Growing Pains
by Archer in the Dark
Summary: Robin's life takes a different path when he meets Slade as a young boy.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Hey guys! Had a new story idea, so here it is. This'll probably be a good few chapters long, but don't expect it to be full story length; I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet. So this one is just my little experiment; it could be three chapters or it could be ten. Your guess is as good as mine at this point. Anyways, please review! How long this gets will depend mostly on the feedback I receive, so... The fate of this story is in your hands. No pressure.

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans or Batman

* * *

"Bruce, come on!"

The dark man stalked by, his face completely impassive. "Absolutely not."

Twelve-year-old Dick Grayson groaned miserably. "Bruce, I've been training for months. I'm ready for this!"

Bruce Wayne didn't even look up as he clipped on his belt and checked to make sure his equipment was all there. "You're ready when I say you're ready. And you're not ready. So give it up."

Dick looked lost for a moment before steeling his expression and striding up to his mentor. "Look, I know you think I'm just a kid and I'm not prepared for this -"

"That about sums it up," Bruce interrupted with a raised brow. Dick scoffed in annoyance.

"I know you _think_ that, but come on, I've been training down in this dank old cave for almost a year, and it's getting harder and harder for me every time you go off and fight crime and I'm left behind. That Robin costume's just waiting for me, and you're not giving me a chance! How will I ever prove myself if you don't give me that?"

Bruce sighed as he slipped the cowl on over his head. "Look, Dick, I don't know anything about what's happened at this robbery other than it took a fairly skilled person to even get inside. I don't know anything about who he - or she," he added after remembering one particularly lovely cat burglar, "- is, and I don't know how dangerous they are. If the criminal is a real threat, I can't risk bringing you. You could get really hurt."

Dick's face fell. "You don't think I can handle myself?" he said, sounding upset. "Then why do you keep telling me how much I've improved, how good I've gotten so quickly?"

Bruce groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. Having a kid was tough sometimes. "Richard, you have improved, and I am impressed with you," he said slowly, trying to be patient. "But that doesn't mean you're ready for the dangers of actually fighting crime." He sighed and glanced over at his ward. The boy looked absolutely miserable.

He gritted his teeth. Dammit.

"Fine," he said gruffly, and raised a gloved hand before the kid could get too excited. "On one condition: you stay in the batmobile the entire time."

Dick's mouth dropped. "What?! Then what's the point of even going!"

"Take it or leave it, Dick, but I have to go in the next minute, or else this guy's gonna get away," Bruce said with a scowl. Dick's face soured, but he jogged over to his costume and started to change. Bruce groaned again and brought a hand to his head.

God, he needed to beat someone up.

* * *

The batmobile screeched to a halt, leaving tire tracks and the smell of burnt rubber in its wake. Batman flung open the door and was about to run out before he hesitated and turned to confront his moody ward.

"Stay," he said sternly. His face darkened at the boy's scathing look. "I mean it, Robin. Don't leave this car no matter what."

"Yes, mom," the boy muttered darkly and slid down further in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

Batman nodded once and slammed the door shut before running off.

Robin scoffed and glared angrily after his mentor. _Stupid ol' Batman_, he thought bitterly. _Thinks he's so cool with his pointy ears and his dumb car. "Not ready" my ass. Probably just wants all the credit for himself. _

He took the time to glare at his surroundings. They were parked on a narrow, dark city street. No one was around. The building Batman had run into was some sort of tech lab, and they were parked in the back of the building rather than at the main entrance. The police hadn't arrived yet, but it was only a matter of time; they would arrive at the front, and Robin knew Batman hoped to solve whatever problem was happening in the lab before the police detected their presence. Bruce wasn't exactly a big fan of the boys in blue, save for a few select cops. Robin wondered what it was the thief could have been after. Some sort of weapon, maybe, or a computer chip, or a digital file, or even just the passcode to an electronic banking account. It could be anything, really.

He sighed and rested his head against the seat, taking a moment to contemplate his situation. It had been two years since Bruce had adopted him, two years since he had watched his parents fall to their deaths. For the first year, Bruce had kept the secret of Batman, hoping that Dick could lead a normal life. But the boy's thirst for vengeance had forced Bruce's hand. About a year after his adoption, the boy had confessed to his mentor that he fantasized about finding Tony Zucco and putting a bullet in his head. He had hoped Bruce would understand; after all, the man's own parents had been murdered in cold blood.

But rather than encouraging his violence, as Dick had secretly hoped the man would do, Bruce had been extremely disturbed. He had urged Dick to reconsider what murdering a man meant; he had pointed out that Dick was only eleven and such thoughts were far too dark for someone so young. And he had solemnly intoned that killing Tony Zucco would do nothing more than lower Dick to the murderer's level. The boy had been furious; he had told Bruce that the man clearly hadn't loved his parents the way Richard had loved his.

That was when the truth had come out.

It was a distraction, Dick knew. By teaching him to fight crime, Bruce was hoping that Dick would forget about Tony Zucco long enough to move on. It was a simple tactic to channel the boy's aggression, and in a way it had worked. His obsession with Zucco had been transferred into an obsession with the perfection of the fight. When he wasn't doing homework he was training, focusing on getting every new move Bruce taught him exactly right. It frustrated him to no end that he wasn't even close to the level of the Batman. He was working himself into the ground to be on the path toward that level, and he at least recognized that it wasn't healthy.

At the same time, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

He sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. He loved Bruce, and respected the man deeply. But Bruce would never replace his father; he was a mentor and a friend, but nothing more. He knew that Bruce was concerned with his behavior, but it was easier to ignore knowing that the man wasn't his parent. And he knew Bruce's resistance to letting him out on his first real fight wasn't about him being physically prepared. It was because the man feared Robin's hunger for violence.

It made him feel very, very lonely that his own guardian, who had been in Robin's exact situation, couldn't understand the way he was feeling.

He was lost in thought when suddenly a man strode out of the lab. Robin instantly sat up in his seat, eyes wide. It wasn't Batman; rather, it was a man in an intimidating set of black and orange armor. His face was completely covered, and Robin could only see one eye glinting in the streetlight. The other half of the man's face was completely dark.

Robin took a short breath. This had to be the thief, but where was Batman? Had the thief attacked him and won the battle, or had he simply slipped by the Dark Knight? He swallowed hard and tried to think over the obnoxiously loud pounding of his heart. Batman hadn't been gone long at all; in fact, it had only been a few minutes. The likelihood of him being beaten so quickly was low. Very low. It also wasn't likely that the thief had slipped by Batman's rather impressive senses, yet it seemed like the greater of two possibilities.

The boy nervously bounced his knee as he peered out of the car. The thief didn't seem to be in any hurry; in fact, he was practically strolling down the street. There was something about the man's walk that radiated power; it made Robin feel extremely insignificant.

He frowned. He was tired of being weak. Now it was his turn to be intimidating.

He lifted his hand to open the door before hesitating. If this man had in fact beaten Batman in a fight, Robin was no match for him. Plus he had promised his mentor to stay in the car.

His gaze hardened. This was his chance to prove himself. He couldn't miss it.

Without another thought, his fingers closed over the door handle and he pulled hard, running out of the car. He fumbled nervously with his belt and managed to whip out a birdarang. Taking a deep breath, he raised the weapon so he was ready to throw it and cleared his throat.

"Freeze!" he screamed, and desperately wished he had a deeper voice. The thief stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned around. The one eye widened and then narrowed, flicking toward the batmobile and then back to him. Robin began to sweat, but kept his gaze hard and steady. "I said freeze!"

There was a long pause. Robin licked his lips and adjusted his stance, ready for a fight. The thief seemed to be thinking hard, and it was making Robin edgy, to say the least.

Finally, the man sighed and clasped his hands loosely behind his back. "I did freeze," he said slowly, as if he were talking to a three-year old. "What else do you want me to do, strike a pose?" The man's voice was a deep purr, dark and deep and everything Robin's voice most definitely was not.

The boy gaped for a moment and then blushed scarlet. "Yeah, right, you uh, actually listened to me," he muttered, embarrassed, then coughed and tried to harshen his voice again. "Well... Get on the ground!"

"Why?" the thief asked, tilting his head to one side. If possible, Robin's face turned even redder.

"Because... Because you're a criminal, and you have to answer for your crimes!"

"What on earth does that have to do with me getting on the ground? I can 'answer for my crimes' standing up, can't I?"

Robin couldn't help but gawk. This wasn't exactly how he had pictured his first interaction with a criminal going.

"You're... Really weird for a thief," he said slowly, not knowing quite what else to say.

He couldn't see it, but he could feel the man's smirk. "Says the boy dressed up like a traffic light. Honestly, green, yellow and red? Not the most practical costume choice. How old are you, anyway?"

"None of your business," he snapped, slightly offended by the age question. "And it's not like orange and black is so much better. I don't know if you've heard, but Halloween isn't for a few more months." It was his first time showing off his parent's colors outside of the circus, and he couldn't help being a little defensive.

The man stared at him long and hard. Robin was sweating profusely at this point, and was wondering where the hell Batman was. Finally the man shook his head. "I don't have time to talk to some bratty kid. Don't bother me again." He turned to walk away.

Without even thinking, like the motion was something deeply ingrained in him, Robin loosed the birdarang. His arm was completely steady; his wrist flicked the exact way he had practiced it in the bat cave. Only this time, his target was a human being instead of a dummy.

The weapon sliced through the air with a cheerful whistle and embedded itself in the thief's shoulder blade.

The man only grunted and stumbled a little, and Robin was instantly impressed with his stoicism; that had to have hurt. The man slowly reached over his shoulder and pulled out the blade with a grunt. He turned around again and faced Robin, who had already unsheathed another birdarang.

"I said, freeze," the boy said darkly, and felt a little thrill at how intimidating he sounded.

The man looked down at the bloody blade in his hand and then back at the boy. "Impressive," he purred, and Robin blinked in confusion. The man was... Complimenting him? After he had put a birdarang in the man's back?

Definitely not the average thief.

"Very impressive," the man praised again, and let the birdarang clatter to the ground. "But fighting your enemies is about more than having good aim. My next question is... Can you keep up?"

Robin narrowed his eyes. "Huh?"

And then with no warning the thief was sprinting away at top speed, which was awfully fast considering how heavy that armor had to be. Robin stood flabbergasted for a moment before starting to give chase.

Then, for the second time that night, he hesitated. It could take a long time to catch up to this guy; Batman would come out of the lab only to find his ward gone without a trace.

He should wait for his mentor. Or call him. But going off on his own was stupid. Terrible idea. He was just a kid, after all.

He saw the thief disappear into an alleyway. He gritted his teeth and bounced nervously in place for just a moment before taking off after his quarry.

Batman was literally going to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Hey guys! Thanks for the feedback so far, I really appreciate it; your reviews have really been making me smile. So please continue to give me your feedback! I don't have much more to say, except here's chapter 2!

Disclaimer: I don't own teen titans or batman

* * *

Batman swept silently through a swinging door. His strides were long and powerful. The cape fluttered behind him, and his footsteps didn't make a sound. The stealth seemed a bit unnecessary, though; alarms were blaring and lights flashing. He could only presume the thief had already acquired what they'd come for.

The real question was whether or not they were still in the building.

He had to admit, from what he'd seen so far he was impressed. Every alarm system had been disabled with apparent ease; no door had proved a challenge. Batman had passed eight security guards who were out cold; it looked as though it had been a quick fight with all of them. He could hear pounding and yelling from doors he passed, and could only assume that the thief had bypassed the security codes and locked the remaining guards in areas where they couldn't stop the theft. The only reason Batman had made it so far so quickly was that he was simply following in the thief's footsteps.

Very impressive.

He paused at the end of a long hallway and quickly glanced left and right; the line of his mouth thinned when he looked left, and he quickly started in that direction. A huge steel door was at the end of the hall, or at least what was left of it. A yawning hole had been burned through it, large enough for one man. He quickly stepped through it and found himself in a huge lab, filled to the brim with various machines that were whirring and clicking away.

He narrowed his eyes. It was difficult to see around the machines, and difficult to hear above the noise. He reached into his belt to grab his grappling hook; a view from above would quickly tell him whether or not the thief was still here.

He was aiming to shoot when he was brutally kicked in the side. His body was lifted momentarily off the ground before slamming harshly into one of the machines. Gasping, he tenderly touched his side. Nothing broken, thankfully, but the wind was knocked out of him. Steam began to whistle out of the broken machinery, and it quickly covered the area in a thin haze that thickened with every second.

His fingers curled into a fist. Now he was pissed. His gaze turned darkly toward the culprit.

It was a man, that much was clear, but beyond that he couldn't tell much. The man was covered head to toe in black and orange armor, and wore a mask that covered all but one eye. He was standing straight, legs spread slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back.

The eye glinted menacingly.

"The dark knight," the man said slowly, and Batman was instantly struck by his voice. It was smooth, low, seductive, and the way he spoke made it sound like he savored words like fine wine. "I've been dying to meet you for quite some time, though I have to admit, I thought you'd make a better first impression."

Batman scowled furiously and stood up fluidly, recovered from the blow. "You seem eager to meet me," he said in a low voice, keeping his temper in check, "but I've never heard a thing about you."

The man tilted his head to the side. "You haven't heard about me because I didn't want you to hear about me," he replied smoothly. "But I thought it was time to introduce myself. The name's Slade."

"Slade," Batman tasted the name. "And why exactly is now the time to introduce yourself?"

It was infuriating not being able to see the man's face, but Batman could've sworn that Slade was raising an eyebrow. "Certainly the dark knight can figure that out on his own. From what I've heard, you're quite the detective."

"I'm flattered," Batman growled, "but you didn't just come here to meet me. You have something that doesn't belong to you."

"Yes," Slade replied calmly. "And I guarantee you now that no matter what you do to me, no matter how many blows you land or how badly you beat me, I will walk out of this building with what I've acquired." He raised his hands slightly, palms up. "But please, I invite you to try to stop me."

Batman's frown deepened, and his body tensed in anticipation for a fight. The two stared at each other for a time, gazes locked, neither giving ground. The steam swirled lazily around them.

Then, Batman strode toward his enemy and disappeared into the haze.

* * *

Robin sprinted into the alley, arms pumping furiously and his cape whipping madly behind him. The alley was narrow, dark, and as far as Robin could tell it ended in a brick wall. Momentarily confused, he looked up and his eyes widened.

The man was leaping back and forth between the alley walls, propelling himself higher and higher until he reached the roof and disappeared from sight.

Robin grinned. He had always been dying to try this.

Getting a running start, he did an entirely unnecessary flip just for the fun of it before springing off his hands and letting his feet land solidly on the wall. Forcefully, he pushed off and landed on the opposite wall of the alley, quickly jumping off so he wouldn't slide down. He repeated the motion again and again until he was practically skyrocketing up into the air, bounding back and forth between the brick.

Three quarters of the way up his legs were killing him. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. _Come on, you can do this!_ he thought furiously. _That guy did it wearing armor; you're in _spandex_. If he did it and you can't, then just go die of shame right now, cuz it's not worth living with that kind of embarrassment. _

Finally he was on the last leap, and gasping for breath he caught the edge of the roof with his fingers and slammed into the wall. Breathing harshly, he groaned in agony and pulled himself up with trembling arms, finally managing to roll onto the roof.

"Not... As much fun... As I thought it'd be," he panted, and gritting his teeth he forced himself to stand. He could see the thief sprinting across the roof; he was a good distance away. Taking a few short breaths, he began to run, slowly at first and then picking up speed when his legs decided to stop feeling like jelly. And suddenly he was grinning madly, lost in the thrill of the chase. The adrenaline felt like the thrill of circus performing, only heightened to an entirely new level. He had never felt more alive.

He was just starting to catch up when the thief reached the edge of the roof; a huge gap lay between it and the next building. Without even slowing down, the man took an enormous leap. Robin's stride faltered as he gawked in amazement. The thief sailed through the air before landing smoothly on the next roof without even having to roll. He stood and turned, arms crossed, to watch Robin.

The boy swallowed nervously and met the man's gaze from across the gap. "Geez Louise, are you even human?!" he shouted in disbelief.

The man stayed silent. "Rude," Robin muttered under his breath. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to answer really important questions?" He looked across the gap and narrowed his eyes. It wasn't the height that bothered him; he was a flying Grayson, after all. Rather, it was how far he'd have to jump. The distance seemed astronomical. And there was nothing for his grappling hook to cling to; the only way across was to jump.

He looked up nervously at the thief. The man was just... Watching. Like this was some sort of a test. Robin furrowed his brow in confusion. Something about this was very wrong. This man should not have had so much interest in him; it wasn't normal behavior for a criminal. The man should be running; actually, he really shouldn't have even been interested in talking to Robin in the first place. He was obviously far more dangerous than the average criminal, and had nothing to gain from bantering with a kid.

So what was this guy's game?

Robin ran his fingers through his jet black hair. The smart thing to do would be to head back to the lab and try to find Batman. He'd get yelled at, but at least he wouldn't be a big splat on the pavement. They could figure something out together.

And yet... There was something about this man that drew Robin to him. He wanted to understand the man's interest, and in some odd way he didn't want to disappoint him.

His gaze hardened, mind made up. He jogged back a little bit and then turned towards the gap. Then, with a deep breath, he began to run with every ounce of energy he had. His feet slapped against the roof; his heart pounded furiously in his chest.

Then, reaching the edge, he pushed off with all his might and flew.

* * *

Batman rolled across the ground, grunting in pain. This guy had a vicious kick. Grimacing, he climbed to his feet for what felt like the hundredth time and stood warily in the haze, which was now so thick he could barely see his hands when he held them out in front of him.

Not being able to see in a fight was usually a distinct advantage for the dark knight; the problem was that Slade also knew a thing or two about fighting without his sight.

Batman stood with narrowed eyes, completely unmoving, his senses on high as he waited for any sign of his enemy.

One quiet footstep from his left was all the warning he got before a fist flew out of the mist and toward his face. Snarling, he caught the punch at the last second and pulled with all his might, forcing Slade closer to him. With his other hand, he threw a vicious right hook that slammed into Slade's mask. He cocked his arm back to repeat the motion, but Slade was too quick for him and, grasping Batman's wrist, brutally flipped the man back onto the ground before kneeling above him and raining punches down on the dark knight.

With a growl, Batman violently rolled over and changed their positions, slamming Slade hard against the ground. He began to beat the man, hatred fueling every punch. Slade's mask began to dent beneath the force of his blows.

And then, the mask fell off.

Batman instantly stopped, eyes wide in shock. This wasn't Slade; this was a robot. Where the man's face should've been there was instead a screen.

And on the screen, a clock was counting down from ten.

Scrambling to his feet, Batman ran blindly through the haze and toward the door, throwing himself through the hole. He didn't stop running until he heard a soft boom from behind him; the floors and walls shook, and the lights flickered, but then things returned to normal quickly enough.

He breathed heavily and covered his mouth with his hand. That had been close. It was impossible to tell if the bomb had been ticking away the entire fight, or if it had simply activated with the removal of the mask.

He preferred the second option. If it had been the first... Well, if he had removed the bot's mask ten seconds later, he would more than likely be dead.

He took a deep breath to regain some sort of calm, but he just as quickly exhaled it in a sharp gasp. Slade's words rang in his ears. _And I guarantee you now that no matter what you do to me, no matter how many blows you land or how badly you beat me, I will walk out of this building with what I've acquired._

The man - the real man - had gotten away. Which meant he had passed right by...

"Robin," he whispered in horror, and took off down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Happy new year! Hope you enjoy chapter 3, and please forgive/point out any typos; this was written late at night. Thank you again for the wonderful encouragement!

* * *

Richard had been five when he had attempted the trapeze for the first time. He had been practicing simple gymnastics for quite a while at that point (or at least what felt like quite a while to a five-year old), and was absolutely determined to join his parents in the air. His parents, especially his mother, had expressed concern. It's very dangerous, his mother had said. Even with the net, that's a long, scary fall, his father had added.

But the boy had been determined, and his parents were lenient; they had no desire to deny their son something he obviously wanted so badly. So one day his mother had brought him up, up, up while his father watched from below. The height was dizzying, and Richard had momentarily doubted his choice.

When they had reached the top, he had turned a little anxiously toward his mother. She had been smiling; he could still remember how radiant she looked in the circus lights. She had brought a gentle hand to his face and stroked his cheek.

"My little robin," she had said softly. "When a bird is flying through the air, it doesn't think at all about falling, right? It just flies. And that's exactly what you need to do, okay? You just fly, and you don't even think about falling. As long as you're in the air, the ground doesn't exist. You have to believe that; just try to think like a little bird."

He had shifted his stance nervously. "Is it scary when you fall?" he had whispered anxiously. Her smile had dimmed a little, and she had sighed, running her fingers through his hair. She had hesitated before speaking, as though she wasn't quite sure if she should tell the truth. When she finally had started to speak, her words had been quiet and honest.

"Yes, Richard. Because there's nothing a bird fears more than falling out of the sky."

* * *

Robin pushed off with all his might, letting out a short cry as he leapt into the night sky. For about two seconds he was flying, soaring through the air in a way he had never quite experienced before; it was incredible, the best feeling of his life.

And then he realized there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to make it. His jump simply hadn't been strong enough.

Panicked, his eyes widened and he whipped out his grappling hook only to quickly conclude, as before, that there was nothing it could attach to. The angles were all wrong, and even if they weren't his momentum was so great that he wouldn't be able to change directions to avoid crashing into the building's wall and tumbling to his death.

In short, he was completely screwed.

Terrified, he locked gazes with the thief, who was still calmly watching from the rooftop, and got an incredibly stupid idea. His jump alone hadn't had the strength to carry him all the way over; ergo, he needed an extra source of power. And since he couldn't push anymore, the only other solution was to have something - or in this case, some_one_ - pull him through the air. He didn't know if the thief would actually help him; they were on opposite sides of the law, after all. But this man was clearly interested in him for some reason; if he was lucky, the man was interested enough to save his life. It was definitely a long shot. A very long shot.

A stupid, stupid idea.

_Any port in a storm, _he thought hysterically, and took aim with his grappler, his legs pumping madly through thin air. "Pull!" he screamed desperately, hoping with all his might that the man could hear him, and squeezed the trigger.

The hook shot toward the man, who calmly stepped aside from the metal claw and easily caught the rope that was shooting by him. And, just as calmly, he grabbed the rope with both hands, widened his stance, and pulled back with incredible power. The gun was nearly wrenched from Robin's hands from the force of the thief's tug, but he clung to it madly. The strength of his jump had been starting to fade, but now he was being viciously pulled through the air; the force of the jump and the force of the thief practically reeling him in was enough to send him sky rocketing toward the building.

Whipping through the air, his eyes widened in horror. He was going to land on the rooftop, that was for sure.

He was also going to crash right into the man who was saving his life.

"Oh, shi-" was all he got out before slamming into the thief and sending them both tumbling and rolling over the roof. He could hear the metal of the man's armor screeching shrilly as it scraped the ground. The concrete bit cruelly into Robin's body, ripping his uniform and brutally tearing open his exposed skin. He couldn't help the scream of pain that burst past his lips.

It felt like a lifetime, but finally he rolled to a stop. Gasping for air, he lay still for a moment before patting down his body with trembling hands to make sure he hadn't broken any bones. He winced and let out a hiss when his fingers shakily passed over his ribs. He could breathe fairly easily, so the damage probably wasn't too awful, but he had definitely bruised them at the very least.

He let out a shaky breath, remembering his mother's words from so long ago. _There's nothing a bird fears more than falling out of the sky._.. And wasn't that the awful truth. He had never been so terrified in his entire life. That feeling of falling, of losing control of the jump...

Death had never felt closer. He had gotten off easy; if the thief hadn't saved him, he would most certainly be dead.

And speaking of which...

Wincing with every movement, he pulled himself to his feet and warily flicked his gaze over to the man, eyes widening in shock at what he saw.

The thief was standing perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked utterly calm, unharmed. Robin began to tremble, feeling afraid of this man for the first time. He should have at least had a scratch, some sign of weakness, after a tumble like that.

Maybe this guy really wasn't human after all.

"Who are you?" the boy whispered fearfully. The man didn't reply, and Robin hardened his gaze. "Who are you?" he repeated with more force. The thief tilted his head.

"Not even a 'thank you' first?"

Robin quickly felt abashed. "Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for saving my life. I just... I don't... Why did you do it? Why are you even talking to me?"

The man stayed silent before slowly walking toward the boy. Robin couldn't stop himself from taking one fearful step backwards. He was shaken; the confidence he had felt during the chase was now completely gone.

He was just a kid, and it was clear to him now that he was way out of his league.

The man stopped just a few inches in front of him. Robin trembled from fatigue and fright; it took all his strength not to fall to his knees. The man suddenly raised his hand and tilted the boy's chin up; Robin winced, but was otherwise too frightened to move. The man studied his bleeding and dirtied face for a moment before finally speaking.

"You'll learn my name soon enough from your mentor. As for why I saved you... You intrigue me, for reasons that are none of your concern at this time. What's your name, boy?"

Robin took a deep breath and counted to five. It was a trick Bruce had taught him, to avoid the mistake of giving the wrong name. It would be catastrophic if he answered with "Richard" instead of "Robin."

But it was awfully hard to wait those five seconds with the man's single eye boring into him.

He finally licked his lips. "Robin," he whispered. "It's Robin."

The man nodded slightly. "Robin," he said slowly, and the boy shivered; the way the man said his name, like he was tasting it... It frightened him.

"I haven't heard of you before," the thief said pleasantly, not moving his touch away from Robin's chin. "Why is that?"

The boy kept his gaze on the man's chest, unable to meet that single eye. "It's... It's my first night out."

"Hm. And you're Batman's protege, I take it."

Robin was far too overwhelmed to come up with a lie, so he simply stayed silent.

"Interesting that the dark knight would leave you in the car for your 'first night out,'" the man purred, and Robin stiffened instantly. "I wonder why that is; he must not find you very useful if he leaves you behind like the family dog."

Robin flushed with indignation, his pride wounded and fear momentarily forgotten. He wrenched his head away from the man's fingers and snarled. "If I'm so useless, then why am I here when Batman is still fumbling around at that lab?" he hissed furiously. The man chuckled darkly and began to slowly walk around him; Robin stood stiffly, every muscle tense.

"Oh, I don't think you're useless, Robin. In fact, so far you've done nothing but impress me tonight, far more than the dark knight did." Robin blinked in confusion, and couldn't help but feel a little flattered; he hadn't gotten such strong encouragement in a long time. The man continued, still in that smooth voice. "You aren't afraid of hurting your enemies; that much was clear with the blade you put in my back. A little sadistic for one so young, don't you think?"

Robin winced, remembering how Bruce was so concerned about his more violent tendencies. "You were about to walk away," he muttered. "I didn't have a choice."

"Of course you did," the man replied smoothly. "You _wanted_ to hurt me; you were just itching to practice throwing that nifty little toy at someone who was alive, someone you could hurt. And you certainly didn't fail." Robin clenched and unclenched his fists, unsure of what to say, wanting to deny it but knowing he couldn't.

The thief stopped his circling, pausing behind Robin and placing his hands on the boy's thin shoulders; Robin flinched, but didn't move away. The man lowered his head to speak in the boy's ear. "Don't doubt what you are, Robin. I've only seen a small amount of you, but I can already tell that you and I are very much alike."

"You don't know anything about me," Robin muttered.

The man's grip tightened. "I will soon," he whispered, and before Robin had the chance to process the rather strange and frightening statement the man's fingers began to dig painfully into his shoulders. His mouth opened in a silent scream of pain and he choked out a gasp; he tried to wrench himself out of the man's grip, but to no avail. "Now Robin," the man said conversationally as the boy writhed in his grasp. "We've already determined that you have impressive aim, you're extraordinarily talented acrobatically, and you're able to think quickly in the face of danger. But now, I'm just wondering..." The man released the boy, and Robin stumbled away, whirling around to face his adversary. The thief slid into a fighting stance, and Robin's masked eyes widened in fear. "How's your hand-to-hand combat?"

* * *

Batman burst out of the building and sprinted toward the batmobile. Police sirens were wailing nearby, but he barely acknowledged them; making sure his ward was safe was far more important that dealing with the police. He slowed down when he was next to the car. His eyes narrowed at what he saw.

He couldn't say he was surprised to find the passenger door flung open and the vehicle empty, but he had to admit he'd been hoping that Robin had followed his orders. Of course, there was a possibility that Slade had forced the boy out...

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He couldn't afford to panic; Robin needed him. Flicking his gaze to the ground, he saw slight indentations in the grime of the street. He had never been more thankful for Gotham's filth.

Taking off at a run, he began the hunt for his ward.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Phew! Finally got around to writing this chapter! Updates will be coming a little slower, unfortunately, as I will be going back to school rather soon. But in the meantime, I'll try to crank out as many chapters as I can. Here's chapter 4!

* * *

Robin only had a moment to prepare himself before the thief leapt forward, fist pulled back for a punch. Letting out a tiny squeak of terror, he dodged to the side and rolled out of harm's way, then flipped back onto his feet and whirled around.

The man's boot was flying toward his face in a powerful roundhouse kick, and it was muscle memory that saved him when he threw up his arm to block it; he had practiced the move many a time with Bruce, and was able to deflect most of the force from the blow.

He couldn't think. It was all happening too quickly to think. Instead, he let his mind go blank and let his body do the work. He knew these moves; he had practiced them day in and day out for a year now.

Face still frozen in terror, he slid forward and and curled his fingers into a fist, smoothly transitioning in a split second from blocking the man's kick to delivering a punch aimed for the abdomen. It didn't hit, but Robin was easily able to duck the thief's counterattack, then block the next, then backflip to gain some distance. When he landed, he instantly leapt off the ground in the hopes of delivering a more powerful punch, but the thief stepped aside, caught his leg, and flung him brutally through the air. Flailing madly, he somehow managed to land shakily on his feet, and some of the terror was subsiding, he couldn't quite name why. And his face had contorted into a snarl, the horrified expression he had been wearing long gone. Blood pounded through his body, and yes, this was euphoric, the very essence of feeling alive. Barely even thinking about the presence of danger in the fight, he charged forward, fists clenched tightly.

He flipped and leapt and kicked and punched, and absolutely nothing was hitting the man but very suddenly and very unexpectedly he found himself... Fighting. Actually fighting. And it wasn't just practice on a dummy or mock fights with Bruce; this was real, this was a real enemy who truly could hurt him, this was a criminal.

He was doing it. He was really, genuinely, actually fighting crime.

He felt a surge of confidence and pressed forward in his attacks, forcing the thief to move backwards. None of his blows were landing, and a ton of the thief's blows were, but that didn't matter, it really didn't, because the thrill of the fight was intoxicating, and Bruce would show up soon anyways and they would knock out the thief together; in the meantime, he just needed to keep this guy preoccupied and in one place. So even though he wasn't exactly winning, for a brief, flickering moment, Robin felt like things were really going well.

And then the man actually started to _fight_ him.

A fist flew forward and slammed into Robin's face. He let out a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, briefly distracted from guessing the man's next move. It cost him dearly, as the next blow was an absolutely brutal kick to his abdomen that sent him flying over the roof before slamming into the ground. He tried to breathe, but air wouldn't come into his lungs for ages and ages, and then finally he was able to choke and sputter, arms curled tightly around his stomach. Gasping, he staggered to his feet, weakly stepping into a fighting stance.

The thief ran straight at him before jumping into the air, his arm cocked back in preparation for a punch. Robin's eyes widened and he quickly did a backflip, just barely missing the powerful blow. The man's punch landed instead on solid concrete, and for a moment Robin hoped that the thief had broken his hand. To his dismay, the man stood easily and simply clenched and unclenched his fist, smashed concrete tumbling off his hand in a cloud of dust; a small crater was left where the blow had landed.

Robin glanced up at his opponent fearfully. It was clear to him now that the man had been holding back before. This was another test of Robin's skill, to see if he could keep up in a more serious attack.

The boy already knew he couldn't.

"Please, stop," he tried to choke out, but the man was already moving and Robin found himself desperately trying to keep up with the rapid fire pace of the fight. Blows rained down on him, and none of them were softened. His ribs, already bruised from earlier, suffered heavily from the attack; at one point he heard a crack, and knew one of them had snapped.

He tried to distance himself from the thief, but it was hopeless; the man somehow blocked every opportunity he had for escape. And his attempts to block the attacks seemed flimsy and useless; for every one punch he managed to dodge or block, five more would land on him. At one point he tried to dodge a blow by flipping back, but the man caught his leg. This time, instead of sending him soaring through the air, the thief slammed him onto the ground.

Robin felt like his chest had caught on fire when he landed on the broken rib, and he screamed in agony before he blacked out. It didn't last long though, and as soon as his eyes cracked open the man was on him again, raining blows down, beating him.

Killing him.

He tried to beg through cracked and bleeding lips, but he found he couldn't speak, could barely find time to breathe between the blows. He had never experienced pain like this; no amount of training down in the batcave could have prepared him for this kind of suffering.

It was just when he thought for sure that the man was going to kill him that all of a sudden the beating stopped. He lay there, gasping and bleeding and sobbing, painfully curled up in a ball and shutting his eyes tight, not believing that it was truly over. When a few long minutes passed and nothing happened, he opened his eyes and shrank back in fear at what he saw.

The thief was kneeling beside him, looking almost bored as he waited for the boy to compose himself. Letting out a few shuddering gasps, Robin slowly tried to sit up. Almost instantly the thief was pushing him back down, none too gently. The boy gasped in pain.

"Don't move," the man said shortly. "You may have internal damage."

Robin glared at him; he was bleeding, in agony, and absolutely terrified, but somehow he still couldn't contain his temper. "And whose - fault - is that?" he wheezed furiously. He got the impression that the man was smirking at him, which was furthered when the thief reached forward to ruffle his hair. He tried to recoil, but found he could barely move. So he simply lay in agony, fear, and rage as the man petted him.

"You did quite well," the thief said casually, as though they were discussing the weather. "Obviously you've got quite a ways to go until you're actually a threat to anyone, but I was impressed with your... _enthusiasm_, if only because you're so young. Your technique needs work; for one thing, you rely too heavily on your acrobatics instead of grounding yourself in the fight. And since you lack the muscle to land powerful blows, you should have used a weapon. But perhaps you simply haven't been trained in those yet."

Robin stared up at him in disbelief. "Are you - seriously - giving me - _notes_?" he snarled between gasps.

"Well you clearly need them," the man said sardonically. "Right now you're about as intimidating as a kitten."

Furious, Robin tried to jerk his head away only to have the man tighten his grip. "You - almost - beat me - to death," he hissed.

The man pulled his head up until Robin's face was level with the mask. The boy breathed heavily through his nostrils, trying not to look afraid. The man's eye glinted in amusement. "You'll live."

Robin growled and again tried to jerk away, again to no avail. The man chuckled and finally released his grip, letting Robin fall heavily to the ground. The boy groaned in pain, clenching his eyes shut. However, they instantly snapped open when he heard his name being shouted from far away. Weakly turning his head, his eyes widened when he saw Batman standing stock still on another rooftop. The dark knight stared at the scene in horror for a moment before quickly turning around and running back; Robin knew he was about to attempt the jump.

So did the thief. The man mockingly patted his head before standing up, and Robin's face contorted into a grimace. The thief brushed some dirt off of his armor and then glanced down at the broken and bleeding boy. "Well this was fun," he purred. "And don't worry; we'll be in touch... _Robin_." With a grace that reminded Robin of a jungle cat the man strode off, hands casually clasped behind his back, until he reached the edge of the roof and simply fell, disappearing from the boy's sight.

Robin's gaze was fixated on the spot until hands were suddenly touching him, gentle hands. He sluggishly turned his gaze toward his mentor, who was kneeling above him and touching his shoulders and face with trembling hands. "Robin..." Batman whispered, looking horrified. "Oh my god, what did he do to you?"

Out of nowhere, a thought consumed him. He had to know, it was incredibly important to know, it was the most important thing in the entire world.

In a sudden bout of strength, Robin's hand shot up and he grabbed Batman's arm, squeezing it hard. His eyes were strange and intense as he stared madly at the dark knight. "His name," the boy croaked. "What's - his name?"

Batman looked down at him with concern. "Slade. His name is Slade."

"Slade," Robin murmured, feeling instantly relieved. His hand fell back to his side. The world was going dark; Batman's face, lined with worry, began to fade. "Slade," he whispered once more, before letting the darkness consume him.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: New chapter is up! The more I write this, the more I realize it might actually be a full length story... I just love writing the dynamics between all of these characters. I've always wanted to see stories where Robin's a little more messed up after watching his parents die right in front of him, and Slade's a little bit more human and lonely than he's often portrayed; I guess I just feel like we can sometimes overlook the trauma these guys deal with. But that's just my humble opinion. In any case, I'm enjoying writing these characters the way I see them. If they're ever way out of character, let me know. So here's chapter 5, and your guess is as good as mine as to where the heck this story is going. Hope you enjoy, and please review!

* * *

William Wintergreen was fast asleep when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. Groaning, he blearily opened his eyes and turned over to glare at the offender.

Slade. Of course.

"What?" he groaned, snuggling deeper under the covers as a form of protest. "What time issit?"

"Three in the morning. And we're drinking," the man said cooly, easily grabbing the covers and ripping away Wintergreen's source of warmth. Wintergreen glared at him and simply curled up into a tighter ball. Slade raised a brow and smirked. "Right now, Will. There's a need to celebrate, and it can't wait until morning."

Wintergreen woke up a little at that and sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He had known Slade long enough to understand that the man wouldn't wake him unless he were truly excited about something. "Robbery went well, I take it?" he asked cautiously, knowing that it couldn't be the true reason for his friend's enthusiasm - if you could call it that. "Got what you needed?"

"Oh, yes, it was easy," Slade said, waving a hand. "And thank you, by the way, for controlling that bot. I presume the conversation with Batman went well."

"Swimmingly," Wintergreen said with a yawn. "I was able to impersonate your charming personality to a tee. I just had to be a major git and he bought it hook, line, and sinker. Was sort of hoping I'd earned a few hours of sleep after that," he added with a glare.

"Don't worry," Slade said drily. "Thanks to you, the bots won't need to be controlled by a human being anymore." The man held up a computer chip between his fingers and smirked. "Welcome to a new age, where the slade-bots can move and fight without you controlling them by remote. You'll be able to sleep through my robberies at long last."

"Thank god," Wintergreen muttered. "That was the only reason I agreed to help you out on this one, you know." He was only partly joking. Slade was his friend, but that didn't mean Wintergreen jumped at the opportunity to help him with a crime. Before this theft, Slade had been forced to do the dirty work on his own, occasionally calling on Wintergreen for help, simply because he had no one else to do it for him; now, the computer chip would help create far more advanced robots, ones that didn't need someone to control them with a remote. In other words, Slade would be able to send machines to steal for him instead of doing it himself. And in turn, that meant he wouldn't need Wintergreen nearly as much. So while Slade had stolen the chip, Wintergreen had been controlling the slade-bot with a remote control, speaking to and fighting Batman to keep the dark knight occupied.

Hopefully, Slade wouldn't need his help in a crime for a good long while.

"Well, I'm glad it went well," he mumbled, grabbing the covers and falling back onto the bed. "G'night."

Slade rolled his eye and ripped the blankets away again. "It's more than just the robbery. Get dressed, Will. I'll meet you in the kitchen." Without another word, Slade strode out of the room.

"Goddammit, Slade," Wintergreen grumbled. "I could kill you for this."

All the same, he didn't hesitate to reach for his glasses.

It took a few minutes, but finally he was able to force his creaking, groaning body out of bed to get changed. Yawning hugely, he shuffled out of the room and into a cold, dark hallway. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Yes, it was true he owed Slade a life debt, and he truly did care about the man, but all the same he couldn't wait to leave this place in a few days and get back to England. Slade's haunts were far too dark and gloomy for his tastes.

When he reached the kitchen, he found Slade sitting comfortably in a loose t-shirt and sweat pants, arms crossed and a bottle of wine sitting in front of him. Two glasses were on the table. The man looked completely impassive, but Wintergreen knew him well enough to see the energy coursing through Slade's body. His friend was very excited about something.

Raising his brows, Wintergreen slowly took the seat across from Slade. "I see you waited to pour," he noted, nodding at the empty glasses.

Slade shrugged and moved to take off the cork. "I'm dramatic that way, I suppose."

"Don't I know it," Wintergreen muttered, crossing his arms. "Honestly, waking me up at three in the morning. This'd better be good, Slade."

"Oh, it is," the man said with a smile; the cork came out with a pop. "But I'll wait until the toast, hm?"

Wintergreen grunted as Slade began to pour. "Merlot, is it?" Slade hummed in agreement; the wine splashed thick and red into each glass. "Pick that up on your way home?"

"I couldn't resist," Slade murmured, putting the bottle down and picking up his glass. "It is a special night, after all."

"Morning," Wintergreen snapped irritably. "It is most definitely morning, which you would know if you had gone to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour like I did."

"Technicality," Slade said with a smirk, and raised his glass.

Sighing tiredly, Wintergreen did the same. "So, what are we toasting to, hm?" he asked drily. "World domination? Your wicked, evil master-mindedness? My incredibly good looks?"

"All good guesses," Slade laughed. "But I'm afraid not." The man's smile widened, and Wintergreen was struck by how happy he looked; Slade almost never looked happy. "We're toasting to my new apprentice."

Wintergreen nearly dropped his glass at that, mouth and eyes widening in shock. "You found one?" he whispered.

"Drink first, Will, drink first," Slade replied, looking very pleased with himself, "And then I'll tell the tale."

Still stunned, Wintergreen took a small sip and then all but slammed the glass down on the table. He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Tell me. How did this happen, tonight of all nights?"

Slade also put his glass down; his eye was dancing with excitement, and suddenly he was _ranting_, which Slade simply did not do. "The boy is a prodigy, Will. At first I wasn't sure, he seemed a little green, but I led him on a chase and he was able to keep up. The boy leapt across a city street to pursue me, and for a second I really thought he wouldn't make it, but he didn't disappoint. Managed to use his grappler in a very innovative and risky way. It wouldn't have paid off with anyone other than me, but still, it was impressive. He needs training - his fighting could certainly improve, but for his age it was incredible; the way he moves, like dancing almost. And there's something about him, something that tells me he's not just some innocent little kid trying to play grown-up... Well, he did put a knife in my back, so there's definitely some darkness there -"

Wintergreen raised his hands, a little overwhelmed. "Jesus, Slade, slow down." Slade instantly shut his mouth; the sheer excitement left his face, and he started to look a bit more... Well, Slade-ish.

Wintergreen sighed and rubbed his chin, feeling a little disturbed. Slade just wasn't a happy, excitable person. To see him like this... It was disorienting, to say the least. And while it was true that Wintergreen saw the more human aspects of the man compared to the rest of the world, this level of enthusiasm was almost unheard of when it came to Slade.

"Okay," Wintergreen started slowly. "Okay, let's back up a little bit. This whole apprentice thing started about a year ago, right?" Slade nodded, and Wintergreen took a deep breath. "Right, and you've been looking for that long and haven't found anyone, and then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, this kid just shows up? Who is he? Where did he come from? And for the love of christ, Slade, how in the hell are you so sure that he's the one?"

Slade hesitated and took a swig of wine. Wintergreen narrowed his eyes. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Slade sighed. "He's Batman's. The boy is Batman's... I don't know, ward, son, apprentice maybe. But it hardly matters."

There was an ugly silence. Wintergreen gaped at his friend in shock.

"Slade..." he finally whispered, horrified. "Slade, what are you thinking? You can't just steal Batman's boy away from him!"

"Why not?" Slade said, meeting Wintergreen's eye. "He's perfect, Will. I could just tell, when I saw him, that he was the one."

"You could 'just tell?'" Wintergreen said scathingly in disbelief. "Slade, this... This isn't you. I don't understand this at all, but this just is not you. You are the most rational person I know; sometimes I don't think you're even human, the way you can calculate things so efficiently, so easily. But this is _insane_. You'd be going to war with the dark knight! There are _plenty_ of kids out there who could be your apprentice, plenty who won't be as complicated as this boy."

"But there aren't," Slade said coldly, and Wintergreen instantly shut up at the look on the man's face; he had crossed a line somewhere. "I've looked, Will," Slade continued darkly. "I've tested so many of them for a year now, and they don't measure up. A stream of disappointments. They're slow, or idiotic, or they lack drive and talent. Robin - the boy - he isn't like that. He's -"

"You don't know that, Slade," Wintergreen interrupted with a scowl. "For god's sakes, you've only just met him. He could be just as disappointing as the others. And to make this boy your own, he'd have to choose between you and Batman, whom we can only presume has been taking care of him. What on earth can you offer him that Batman can't?"

"I can satisfy his lust for violence," Slade said shortly. Wintergreen scoffed.

"Right, because Batman is so light and fluffy."

"Batman takes on the appearance of terror, but he doesn't understand it, and he won't understand this boy. Robin wants to hurt people; I don't know why, but he does."

"And how can you tell that?" Wintergreen said tightly.

Slade narrowed his eye. "Because the boy put a blade in my back, and he can't be much older than ten."

Wintergreen rubbed his mouth, troubled. "This is a bad idea, Slade. You should find someone else."

"There _is_ no one else," Slade growled. Wintergreen shook his head.

"You've only been searching for a year, and you've only just met this boy! You're being completely irrational, which I have to admit I never thought I'd have to say to you. There are others, others that are just as good, you just need to look longer, look harder -"

"Will," Slade interrupted softly but intently. "Will, just think about it. Who could be better than the student of Batman himself?"

Wintergreen sighed and shook his head for about the tenth time. He took a massive swig of wine, suddenly grateful for the alcohol. Grimacing, he put the glass down and wiped his mouth. "And how exactly will you get the boy to even consider an apprenticeship? Even if you're right and there is some kind of... Darkness in him, he won't just skip over to your side."

"His identity," Slade said easily. "Once I know his and Batman's true identities, it won't take much to convince him to take a few lessons from me."

"So the big bad plan is to blackmail him?" Wintergreen asked in disbelief. "Slade, that's not exactly going to make him like you."

Slade waved a hand dismissively. "Trust comes later. Right now I just need to get him under my wing."

"And you're confident you can really discover his secret identity? You've only seen him once, after all, and this _is_ Batman we're talking about."

Slade sat back in his seat, looking more relaxed now that Wintergreen wasn't grilling him so harshly. "His costume will give him away. It's like a traffic light; no vigilante would dress up in those flashy colors unless they meant something to him, had something to do with his past. Batman certainly didn't pick his outfit; it's too impractical for fighting crime. The boy couldn't slip through the shadows if he tried with those colors. My guess is he's some kind of performer, circus maybe. Give me a week of researching, maybe two, and I'll figure it out."

Wintergreen opened his mouth, a million more scathing criticisms and questions on the tip of his tongue... And then he saw the look on Slade's face. There was an eagerness there, a happiness that Wintergreen hadn't seen for a long time. In fact, the last time he could remember seeing it was when Slade had brought up the idea of an apprentice for the first time.

And suddenly he was struck by a wave of pity, something he very often felt for his friend. Slade was alone in a way Wintergreen would never understand. The man had lost everyone who had ever been close to him, save one friend, one person who had the very rare privilege of seeing the man behind the monster. And Slade would long outlive Wintergreen, they both knew it; only one of them had the serum for immortality running through his veins. Wintergreen could already see and feel his body deteriorating with age. Slade would never say it, but having an apprentice had nothing to do with passing down his legacy and everything to do with finding lasting companionship. Wintergreen wondered at the time his friend spent down in the dark, alone save for the whirring and clicking of machines and gears. This boy - Robin - it was a terrible idea. He knew, without a doubt, that this would only end in hurt.

Yet his critiques lay quiet and still on the tip of his tongue, and with great effort he finally swallowed them. He poured another glass of wine, but couldn't bring himself to drink from it for a time; his throat was far too tight as he stared at the man who had once saved his life, who now lived in darkness and loneliness and was so desperate for companionship that he was going to steal someone else's child.

He didn't think he would ever see anything else quite so sad.

With some difficulty he coughed and raised his glass. "Well," he said softly, keeping the pity out of his voice. "Well, I don't like it one bit, but here's to your apprentice."

Slade smiled broadly and raised his glass as well, taking a sip. "You'll see, Will," he said confidently, gazing off at nothing. "It'll all work out. You'll see."

"Yes," Wintergreen said softly, and his heart clenched with compassion. "Yes, I suppose we'll see."

After that there were no more words. The two men simply sat in the dim light of the kitchen, occasionally sipping from their wine, as one sat lost in the glory of a dream and the other was consumed with a dread that refused to release it's dark grip on his heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys! So... It's been awhile. And I apologize. My excuse is college, and I'm sticking to it. Right now I'm on spring break, so I have some time to just sit in my own bed and actually write. Ideally I'll get chapter 7 up too, but no promises. Just know this: I haven't forgotten about this story. It's just that life is awfully busy sometimes, and it's hard to find the time to update. So if it takes awhile for chapters to come up, I really am sorry. But I love writing this story, so don't lose faith! Anyways, here's chapter 6; enjoy Robin's weird dream and some Robin - Batman drama.

* * *

_The circus tent is bright. Colorful lights flash and dance over the crowd as clowns tumble and play. The audience roars with laughter and claps their hands. It's loud. It's full of life. _

_The boy stands just outside the ring, feeling confused. Things are blurred somehow, as though the world is spinning too quickly. _

_"I've seen this before," he murmurs, and glances around. "I've been here before. Where am I?" _

_"Don't you remember?" a man says. The boy turns to look, but the man is bathed in shadow. "This is when you were born. This is where it happens." _

_"When I was born?" the boy questions. The man nods. _

_The boy is puzzled, but turns back to watch. The clowns are gone. The colors have faded to black, until everything is pitch dark. Then, twin lights flash high, high up, all the way at the top of the tent. Two figures, so small at such a height, stand on platforms opposite each other. They hold trapeze bars in their hands. _

_The boy begins to sweat. "Do I know them?" _

_The man does not answer, and the boy fidgets nervously. The figures jump, and the crowd gasps in fear as they swing towards each other. _

_"I know this," the boy whispers. "Why can't I remember? Something's going to happen, but I can't remember what..." His voice trails off. He sees a young boy, watching the acrobats with a big smile. The child is wearing a red, yellow, and green costume. _

_Head spinning, he looks down at himself and sees he's wearing the same. "What's happening?" he whispers. _

_The man nods at the child. "He dies..." He points to the boy. "And you're what's left over." _

_And suddenly he remembers, he knows exactly what's going to happen. Frantic, he sees a thief, a villain, watching from the back with a dark smirk, a knife in hand. _

_"Stop!" he screams and runs to the center of the ring. "Stop, stop, the rope is cut!" The figures above him don't hear, they keep jumping and swinging through the air. The audience continues to applaud. _

_"No!" he shrieks. "No, they're going to fa-"_

_The snap of the rope interrupts him. Everything is silent as he watches the acrobats plummet to the ground, hands still clasped in their final trick. His mouth is open in a silent scream; his eyes are wide with horror. _

_When they land, the ground explodes. _

_Screaming, he's thrown off his feet and lands harshly on his back. For what feels like an eternity he lays on the ground, crying out as debris rains down endlessly, the world exploding around him. _

_Finally, it stops. He coughs and rubs dirt out of his eyes. Blinking, he stands. The tent is gone. All that remains is a crater. _

_His stomach drops. Tentatively, he moves toward it, and covers his mouth when he sees them, when he sees his parents, mom and dad, lying dead in the center, eyes open in horror, hands still clasped. _

_Tears trickle down his cheeks. A sob escapes his lips. Trembling badly, he climbs down into the crater. Dust rises in soft clouds when he moves. Sobbing, he finally reaches them and collapses to his knees. He begs them to wake up. He holds their faces in trembling hands, searching for a sign of life. But the light in their eyes has long gone out. _

_"You failed them," a voice rumbles. Quivering, he turns to see the man from the shadows. His face is half black, half orange. Slade. "You've failed them twice now." _

_"I didn't mean to," he whispers. "I didn't know... I couldn't stop it." _

_"And now they're dead, again, because of you... Robin," Slade says softly. Robin buries his face in his hands. Tears trickle through his fingers. _

_A hand clasps his shoulder. Confused, he looks up. _

_The man is holding out a gun."Don't fail them again." _

_Trembling, he takes the gun and stands up. Tony Zucco is there now, laughing and jeering. Suddenly furious, he raises the gun._

_"Don't do it, Robin!" A voice cries, and the boy hesitates to look. It's Bruce Wayne, looking ridiculous in a cheesy bat costume. He wears a clown wig. A fake tear is drawn on his face. "I didn't do it, and look how I turned out." Bruce puffs out his chest in pride; the tear slides farther down his face. _

_Robin turns back to Zucco, but he feels sick now, not as sure. "Don't fail them again, Robin," Slade purrs. _

_"Don't fail us again, Richard," his mother's corpse is saying, her eyes dead and her skin pale. _

_"We know you can do it," his father adds, and worms are crawling in his eyes. _

_The boy points the gun, but it's melting now, hot metal in his hand, and his skin is melting off with it. He screams and screams but no one is moving, his parents are just chanting "don't fail us, don't fail us," and Slade and Batman stand by and watch, and Zucco is laughing and laughing as Robin falls to his knees and screams. He holds up his hand and watches as the skin bubbles and melts until all that's left is bone, and then the hot metal of the gun is everywhere until he's melting into the ground, and his parents are watching, and all that's left are his hoarse screams, and- _

* * *

"Alfred!" Bruce roared, sprinting into the batcave with Robin's limp body in his arms. "Alfred, where are you?!"

The old butler ran toward him and gasped. "Oh god, what happened?"

"He was attacked," Bruce said shortly. "Now for the love of christ, help me! Clear a table!"

Eyes wide, Alfred ran to the nearest work table and unceremoniously swept everything off of it. Gadgets and papers fell to the floor with a clatter. "Here, here, put him here," he said frantically, and Bruce gently laid the boy's battered body on the table.

"Scissors," Bruce said, voice dark. "We need to cut his clothes off."

Face lined with worry, Alfred nodded and jogged off.

Bruce looked down at his ward, and his face darkened. The boy was muttering and twitching. A few tears were trailing down his face.

Bruce tightened his jaw. "I swear to god, Robin," he growled. "I will find the man who did this to you, and I will do much worse to him. I swear to god."

Alfred came running back only moments later, scissors gleaming brightly in his hand. Bruce nodded and took them. He took a deep breath. "Okay... He's going to be okay, Alfred. I promise."

Leaning over the table, he began to cut away the boy's clothing.

It took hours. Robin had broken two ribs, a finger, and had sprained his ankle and wrist. His face was covered in dark bruises and bloody scrapes. And there were deep cuts filled with dirt all over his body that needed to be cleaned and stitched. Bruce and Alfred painstakingly cleaned each wound, splinted each broken bone, and stitched the worst of the boy's wounds. When they had finally finished, they collapsed, exhausted, in nearby chairs. It was nearly six in the morning.

Bruce brought a hand to his face to rub his temples. His arm trembled badly. Alfred saw and sighed. "Go to bed, master Bruce. I'll look after him."

"I won't leave him," the man said stubbornly.

Alfred furrowed his brow. "Master Bruce, I really must insist -"

"It's my fault," Bruce said sorrowfully, cutting the butler short. "Look at him. He wasn't ready. I should've known better, I should've made him wait, I shouldn't have left him alone..." Bruce buried his head in his hands and breathed shakily.

Alfred's face softened with pity, and he put a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "It is not your fault, do you understand?" His face darkened with anger. "It is that monster's fault and no one else's. What he did to that young boy... It was inhumane. But it is not your fault that he did it."

"Dick is _my_ responsibility," Bruce said slowly, raising his head. "I'm the only parent he has left. He looks to me for guidance, and safety. I failed him. And with this kind of life, fighting the worst kind of people and sacrificing everything else... Failing has very severe consequences." Bruce sighed heavily and glanced over at the boy. "Which is why he can't be a part of it anymore."

"Are you certain that's the best way?" Alfred asked quietly. "He'll be furious if you try to take crime fighting away from him. And it gives him so much hope, Master Bruce. It helps keep him distracted from the grief."

"Maybe it's better to face grief," Bruce said softly, "Instead of constantly running away from it. He'll hate me for it, but at least he'll be alive. I thought, when I saw him, that he might be-" he shuddered and swallowed heavily. "That we might have lost him. He could've died tonight, Alfred. And no matter what you say, that would have been because of me." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's done, Alfred. He's done. From now on, Dick leads a normal life." He glanced over at the boy again and felt his heart contract. "No more fighting."

* * *

Dick wrinkled his nose. "More turkey sandwiches?"

Bruce glanced down at the tray, looking confused. "You love turkey sandwiches. That's what you told me to make."

"That's what I told you to make four days ago," the boy said, rolling his eyes. "You've been feeding me the same meal for days. Have some culinary creativity, Bruce. Or just let Alfred make me lunch."

"Alfred makes us every single other meal. I thought it would be nice to change things up a bit," Bruce said, face a little red. "I just uh, haven't had to make lunch for anyone else in a while."

"It shows," Dick said wryly. "Variety is the spice of life, pal. Make me some soup or something."

Bruce raised a brow and placed the tray on the bed. "Little bossy, don't you think?"

Dick sighed and rubbed his temples, or at least tried to; the cast on one of his fingers hindered the movement. "I'm sorry. I'm just sick of being in this bed." He scoffed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't wait to be able to go back to school. When will I be able to leave?"

"When I say you can," Bruce said drily. "School can wait."

The boy smirked and grabbed a sandwich. "Now who's being bossy?"

"Unlike you, I've acquired the right to be bossy after many years of deep life experience," Bruce said with a smile.

Dick grinned and took a bite. "So," he said after swallowing. "Any news on Slade?"

Bruce hesitated before answering, looking uncomfortable. "Look, Dick, I really don't want you to worry about him, okay? Just try to keep him off your mind."

Dick gave him a disbelieving look. "Seriously? The guy almost beat me to death. I'm not gonna be happy until he's behind bars."

"I understand that," Bruce sighed. "But he's my problem, not yours, got it? I'll take care of him."

Dick blinked, confused. "He's my problem too, Bruce. I mean, I know I don't stand a chance against him, but I want to help you at least."

Bruce sighed and looked away. Dick suddenly started to feel nervous. "What is it?"

"Look, Richard," Bruce started slowly. "I am so proud of all of the progress you've made in the past year. I really, truly am. But this life... I shouldn't have introduced it to you in the first place. It was a mistake. I mean, look at you!" he burst out, looking agitated. "Look at what happened! You're twelve years old, Dick. You shouldn't be bedridden for days because a criminal almost killed you; you should be outside, making friends, playing. I took that away from you the moment I introduced you to crime fighting." The man's gaze hardened. "But not anymore. You're going to live a normal life, Dick. I won't let this happen to you ever again."

"So then don't!" Dick burst out desperately. "But I can still learn to fight! We'll just be safer about it! I promise I'll stay in the car next time, or we can just keep training until I'm actually ready to go out there. I know I messed up, I know, but you have to give me another chance!"

"Don't you get it?" Bruce said sadly. "You didn't fail, Dick. I did. This is my fault for thinking that someone your age could possibly handle a life like this."

"I can, though!" Dick said shakily. Tears were starting to burn in his eyes, and he swiped at them irritably; he didn't want to look weak, not now when Bruce was staring at him with so much pity. "I can deal with this, I promise! Please, you can't take this away from me. It's all I have!"

Bruce nodded slowly. "I know. And that's the problem." He stood up and looked down at his ward with pity. The boy looked utterly lost. "There's so much more to life than this, Richard. I sacrificed that happiness to protect the people of Gotham. But I won't let the same thing happen to you. You're going to be happy, and safe." He sighed heavily. "Look, I know it seems bad now, but trust me: you'll thank me someday."

He began to walk out of the room, but hesitated in the doorway. "I'll bring you some soup tomorrow," he said softly. "Alfred will take care of you tonight." And then he was gone.

Dick stared after him, trembling. He wanted to run after the man, make him see that he wanted this life, that it was okay that he was hurt now because he'd heal, and he'd be so much more careful next time, really... But all he could do was stare at the empty space of the doorway, shaking from an emotion he couldn't name.

Fighting was his life now; he remembered what it had felt like to fight Slade before the beating had started. It was like everything in his life had suddenly made sense, like he was satisfying the dark part of himself but doing the right thing. He wanted to be a hero; he needed it. Because the alternative was just sitting back and letting life happen around him, not making a difference, disappointing the memory of his parents. He remembered the nightmare he'd had, the gun melting in his hand, his parents chanting that he couldn't fail them again.

And now, because of his one stupid decision, he had.

Feeling very small, he curled up in the bed and started to sob.


	7. Chapter 7

Wow, two chapters in two days? What is this madness?

First off, thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter! I know it's been awhile, and it was definitely inspiring to see some support.

And secondly, I wanted to address a topic that was brought up in some of the older reviews. A lot of people commented that Slade's excitement over Robin was unsettling or ooc; I agree. But that's what I was going for. All we ever see is dark, scary, completely-in-control Slade. But I like the idea that he has exactly one person in the world to open up to, and to actually be a (somewhat) regular person with. That being said, Wintergreen probably won't be showing up again for awhile after this chapter, so don't worry: scary, intimidating Slade will be taking the stage.

But yeah. I just wanted to reassure you that Slade won't be turning into an excitable little puppy, because that would most definitely be a bummer (although it wouldn't surprise me if someone has written a fanfic about that...). And if I feel motivated, I might go back and edit that scene to make him a bit more Slade-ish. But that's something that probably won't happen for awhile because, if we're being real, I'm a lazy bum.

So anyways, here's chapter 7! Please, please, please review, and please continue with the constructive criticism because I luuuurve it.

*To Kirokokori: You were absolutely right about that line, and I've changed it. Shouldn't have written it in the first place, so thank you for bringing it up. And thank you for your review!

* * *

Wintergreen grunted as he dragged the heavy suitcase down the hall. _Why didn't I buy the one with wheels? _he thought irritably with gritted teeth.

Gasping, he finally managed to make it to the main room. His eyes narrowed when he saw Slade hunched over his desk; about five different screens were flickering in front of him on the wall, each displaying what looked like various newspaper clippings.

Wintergreen scoffed. "You know, it would be nice to have some help with this," he yelled across the room.

Slade grunted and didn't look up. "I'm busy."

"You're a terrible host, that's what you are," Wintergreen grumbled, grabbing the bag again and hauling it behind him. "See if I fly out here to visit you in your dank old haunt again. Why don't you live in nicer places, anyways? Can't all of your wickedness be accomplished from a nice apartment?"

He felt more than saw the eye roll Slade was giving him. "On second thought," Slade growled. "Allow me to assist you with your luggage, as to get you out of here faster."

"Fine by me," Wintergreen said with a grin and unceremoniously dropped the bag. "See, I knew you'd come around. I always win."

Slade smirked. "Except that now you've created a competitive environment, and if I help you with your baggage you'll have beaten me. I simply can't have that. So now I think I'll continue with my work and allow you to continue with yours."

"You unbelievable jackass," Wintergreen growled. Slade's smirk merely grew.

Abandoning the luggage momentarily, Wintergreen walked up to examine the computer screens. "Acrobatic prodigies?" he asked, quirking a brow.

Slade hummed. "And accidents," he said, pointing to one of the screens.

Wintergreen grimaced. "Looks like quite a fall. Explain to me how exactly this will help you with the boy?"

Slade sighed and rubbed his eye, blinking away spots. "I need to discover his identity. His ridiculous costume helps slightly with the search, but there's still so many other factors to consider. One constant I have to work with is that he's simply too talented acrobatically to have kept it hidden; either he was in a circus or he was in competitions. But there are many, many things to consider. For instance, is Batman his biological father, or was he adopted? If it's the latter," and here Slade gestured toward the screen with the broken bodies, "there's a possibility that it was a circus accident. Or, are the boy's parents alive, and he's off fighting crime with Batman in secret?"

"What do you think?" Wintergreen asked quietly.

"I think the boy's parents are long dead," Slade said smoothly. "It would certainly explain his aggression at such a young age, and his desperation to prove himself. And I'm also betting that he came from the circus, based on his costume choice. Gymnastic competitions have flashy costumes, certainly, but they don't mean much to the gymnast. A circus costume, on the other hand, would have much more sentiment. For Robin, it could be a touching reminder of the life he once had. He seemed awfully defensive of the colors when I brought it up."

"So basically you're looking for an orphan from the circus, who may or may not have been adopted," Wintergreen said slowly. "How difficult can that be? I can't imagine there's many circuses that pass through Gotham, and an incident like that would be in the papers."

"There are only one or two circuses that pass through here," Slade admitted. "The difficult part is knowing whether or not Batman and Robin met in Gotham or in a completely different area. They could have met anywhere."

Wintergreen smiled. "But you think it was Gotham, don't you?"

"It's the likeliest place, yes," Slade said with a knowing smirk. "And, in fact, there was one incident in Gotham only a few years ago that fits exactly what I'm looking for."

Wintergreen rolled his eyes and sighed irritably. "Bloody hell, you already know his identity, don't you? You've just been stringing me along."

Slade smirked. "I just like reminding you of how brilliant I am. After all, I _did_ say it would only take me a week, and it actually only took me five days."

"Jackass," Wintergreen muttered for the second time in less than five minutes. For such an intensely serious man, Slade was awfully fond of games. "So, who is the kid?"

Slade raised a brow in amusement and turned to the screens. He pushed a key on the keyboard, and suddenly all of the screens were displaying newspaper articles of one story.

"The Flying Graysons," Wintergreen murmured. "Parents tragically fell to their deaths. Possible mob involvement. Richard Grayson, orphaned at age 10." He shrugged. "Well, I'm impressed; he certainly fits your bill. Do they look alike?"

"The costumes are practically identical," Slade scoffed, looking a little irritated. "Honestly, he could have at least _tried_ to cover up his past."

"Damn sentiment. Gets 'em every time," Wintergreen quipped wryly. "Don't tell me you're disappointed?"

"Oh, not with dear Richard," Slade drawled, leaning back in his seat. "He's still just a boy, and probably didn't even entertain the thought that someone could trace his costume back to the circus. Batman, on the other hand, was an idiot for allowing the boy to wear those colors. But his stupidity is my gain, so I won't complain."

Wintergreen scratched his head. "So if Robin is Richard Grayson, then who -"

"Oh, it's very clever," Slade interrupted with a sly smile. "Honestly, you would never guess that it's him. But really, it makes perfect sense, once you've entertained the idea for awhile."

"What's very clever?" Wintergreen asked, puzzled.

Slade nodded at the screen, still with a small smile. "Richard Grayson was adopted by none other than Gotham's favorite billionaire and utter buffoon, Bruce Wayne."

"_Bruce Wayne_?" Wintergreen hissed in disbelief. "_The _Bruce Wayne?"

"The one and only," Slade said, nodding at the screen. "Genius, isn't it? All of the funds to make his little toys, along with the perfect cover story. Who would ever suspect the spoiled son of a billionaire to fight Gotham's scum?"

"I don't believe it," Wintergreen said, shaking his head in shock. "I saw a news clip of him once; reporters were trying to get a statement out of him, and he tripped over his own feet. Landed flat on his face. You're telling me that he's Batman?"

"It's an impressive act, but that's all it is: an act."

Wintergreen whistled. "Wow. Didn't see that one coming. Almost makes me want to stay, see how this whole thing plays out."

"What's stopping you? Stay," Slade said with a shrug, starting to type in another search. "It's sure to be more interesting than whatever's in England."

"My life is in England," Wintergreen said with a sigh. "You know, life? That thing with a job and your own apartment and friends?"

"I wouldn't know about that," Slade said with a scoff.

There was a slight pause. "Well," Wintergreen started off hesitantly, "you could, you know."

Slade stopped typing and turned to raise a brow. "I'm serious, Slade," Wintergreen said softly. "Come to England with me. We can live in my flat, find you a real job, maybe a nice lady. Turn away from all of this, before it's too late. There's a better life out there."

"I tried that life once. Lost an eye," Slade deadpanned. "I think I'll stick with this, thanks."

"Oh please, you didn't try," Wintergreen scoffed. "You tried to be a father and a husband _and_ an assassin all at once, but it doesn't work that way. Please, just consider -"

"Will," Slade interrupted in a dangerously low voice, "Will, you are my friend, and I value your opinion. I appreciate your concern, really, I do." The one eye glowed coldly in the light of the screens, and Wintergreen felt a shiver run down his spine. "But, if you don't drop this," Slade continued softly, "I will snap your neck without a second thought."

An ugly silence pervaded the room. Both men stared unblinkingly at the other, until finally Wintergreen sighed. "Maybe, one day, you'll consider it," he said sadly.

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Slade replied coldly.

Wintergreen nodded and bit his lip. "Yes, well, I'll hope for it anyways."

There was another long pause, and then suddenly Slade's face softened. "I'm sorry."

"There's really no need for -"

"Yes, there is, I was completely -"

"No, _I_ was completely-"

"Will," Slade growled, "I'm trying to be decent, and you're ruining it."

Wintergreen's mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile. "My apologies."

"You're forgiven," Slade said gruffly.

A third pause. Neither seemed quite sure what to say. Then:

"I wish you would stay."

Wintergreen nodded sympathetically. "I know, old friend. I know. And I wish you would come."

"And we both know," Slade said with a bitter smile, "that neither will happen."

"Yes," Wintergreen said softly. "I suppose we do."

Slade took a deep breath. "Well, then, all there is to do is grab that ridiculous suitcase of yours and send you on your merry way."

Wintergreen looked up sharply. "My suitcase is hardly ridiculous!"

Standing up, Slade smirked and moved to grab the bag. "You pack far more than is necessary, Will. Honestly, what do you even have in here? Bricks?"

"Well it's not _that_ much!" Wintergreen sputtered.

Slade threw the suitcase over his shoulder and began to walk out. "It probably weighs more than you do," he called back with a small grin. Wintergreen rolled his eyes and followed, taking a moment to contemplate the oddity of his situation.

It wasn't the first time Slade had threatened to kill him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. And over the years, it bothered him less and less. He supposed it was because everything with Slade was just... More. Like every emotion was heightened, or in its rawest form. It wasn't healthy, or excusable, or something he approved of; it was just something that had become normal to him over time.

And he also acknowledged that a large reason he didn't run away from the man and never look back was because he was all that stood between Slade and utter solitude; god only knew what the man would be like if he didn't have Wintergreen to remind him of his humanity.

Sometimes he wondered if Slade ever really would kill him; he doubted it, but admitted to himself that it was a possibility, even if only a very slim one. Slade, after all, was a very, very complex man.

He only hoped that little Richard Grayson would be able to survive it all.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Hello again - IT'S SUMMER TIME: WOO! And you know what that means, don't you? That's right! I can finally update this story! Ah, yes. What a glorious time of the year. Thank you so much for the reviews; they really did help keep this story on my mind, and they always make me smile. Definitely a big motivation to keep writing! So thank you for waiting, and without further ado, I give you chapter 8!

* * *

"Dick, come on, hurry up! You're going to be late for school again!"

Bruce stood in the doorway of the dining hall, his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. Alfred raised a brow as he picked up the finished breakfast tray. "Late again, master Bruce?"

Bruce scowled. "It's only his second week back. You'd think he'd still be excited to finally be back in school, but I guess the novelty of it wore off quickly. And he's been making _me_ late for work."

"Yes, well, he's young, sir. I imagine it's quite difficult to be excited about sitting in class for many hours each day. And you know that I could drive him to school; it is my job, after all."

Bruce sighed heavily. "I feel like driving him to school is the one of the few normal things he and I can have. And frankly, he's been avoiding me; these days, driving him is one of the few opportunities I have to just be in the same space as him. And, well, he used to love school. He looked forward to it. You know, before... All of this happened."

"Before Slade," Alfred said softly.

"Right. And before I took away his uniform and stopped training him." Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly. "He's just been so... Different, recently. I expected him to be angry, or surly, or _something_, and I guess he was for a few weeks, but recently he's just been... Well, you've seen him."

"Distant, sir. He's been very distant."

"Yes, I suppose that's a good word. Distant," Bruce said tiredly. "I'm worried about him."

Alfred offered a small smile. "Give it time, sir. He's been through hell and back. I'm sure he'll be his old self again once he gets back into the swing of things."

"It's been over a month," Bruce said, his brow furrowed. "I thought he'd have at least made some steps in the right direction by now, but it just feels like we're moving backwards. I still sense so much anger in him, and I don't know what to do about it anymore. I'm not a parent, Alfred. I don't know what I'm doing."

"No parent knows what they're doing, sir," Alfred said wryly. "And if anyone raising a child says that they know exactly what they're doing, I can assure you that they're lying. You care about master Dick; right now, perhaps that's all you can offer him. He needs more time, and he needs you to look out for him. Things will look up soon."

"I hope you're right, Alfred," Bruce replied sadly. "God, I hope you're right."

At that moment, Dick strode into the room, looking solemn in his dark school uniform. His backpack was slung casually over one shoulder and his hand was loosely grabbing the strap. One finger jutted out awkwardly in a splint. "Right about what?"

Bruce and Alfred exchanged a quick glance before the butler offered a short nod and left the room. Bruce smiled at his ward. "Nothing that you have to worry about. Ready to go?"

Dick stared blankly at his guardian. "Were you talking about me?"

Bruce sighed. "Dick..."

"Never mind," the boy said shortly. "It doesn't matter. Can we just go?"

"Yeah," Bruce said softly. "Yeah, we can go."

Dick nodded, his face completely impassive. "Good." Without another word, he strode past his mentor and out of the room. Bruce turned to follow his ward; his gaze flicked over to the liquor cabinet. He hesitated for a moment and then sighed heavily. "I'll be seeing you later," he muttered, and with a crisp step he walked out of the room.

* * *

Dick stared blankly at the wall, chin resting on one hand. He lightly tapped his desk with his pencil. A few of the more prim and proper students were giving him dirty looks for making the noise, but he ignored them. It was just impossible to pay attention; Mrs. Jones was rambling on about _The Lord of the Flies,_ a book Dick had read twice already. Most of the kids in his class had hated it; too depressing, they had said, and unrealistic because kids couldn't _really_ be that mean.

Morons.

It never ceased to amaze him how incredibly stupid some of the students were. His middle school was private, and supposedly highly selective. But it was fairly obvious that intelligence mattered far less than money when it came to getting accepted into the school.

"Mr. Grayson?" Mrs. Jones' nasally voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you paying attention?"

"Of course, Mrs. Jones," he said smoothly. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

"Well then I'm sure you won't mind telling the class what the conch represents in the story?"

"Civilization," he said smoothly without even hesitating to think. "The conch represents the power of words and politics. When it's broken, that power is lost; violence and strength become the law. Civilization is broken, and the children can finally display their true and savage nature."

Mrs. Jones blinked rapidly. "Er, yes, that's correct," she muttered, obviously surprised that he had known the answer. "Very good, Mr. Grayson. You clearly have a good understanding of the book."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones," he replied with a fake smile. "Glad I could contribute."

She nodded uncomfortably and cleared her throat. "Yes, well, as I was saying before, according to William Golding, violence and savagery seem to be the true root of human nature..."

Dick tuned out her words once more and went back to staring at the wall. He was tired; he was bored. And above all, he was incredibly frustrated with being tired and bored. He was cold with Bruce and Alfred because it gave him something to do, a persona to keep up. It was satisfying to see Bruce squirm.

The truth was he was so furious with his mentor that it was hard not to lash out every time he saw him. At first he had expected Bruce to change his mind about not training him; he had been certain that the man would see reason, see that Dick needed crime fighting, needed something to keep him focused and relatively happy. But after a few weeks it had been clear that that was never going to happen. The worst of it was that Bruce wouldn't even let him practice on his own; apparently he didn't want to encourage the boy to continue with fighting at all. And so for weeks, Dick hadn't had any means to release his aggression.

He knew it wasn't normal or healthy to be so angry. He knew it. But he just couldn't bring himself to forgive Bruce. And now that he wasn't distracted with training, he was thinking more and more about Tony Zucco and Slade: where they were, what they were doing, who they were threatening or hurting.

It haunted him. He wanted revenge; he wanted justice. But all he could do was sit in class and hear about _The Lord of the Flies_. It took everything he had not to run screaming out of the room.

What felt like hours later, the bell finally clanged loudly. Lunch time. Dick moodily grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, striding purposefully out of the classroom. He couldn't wait to sit by himself for forty-five minutes. He had friends, it was true, but lately he hadn't felt inclined to spend time with them. They were all spoiled and hadn't experienced anything truly difficult in their lives; it hadn't bothered him before Slade, but now he felt as though he couldn't relate to them. He couldn't listen to how difficult it was for them to not have the newest bicycle on the market when he had been brutally beaten by a criminal and his parents had died in front of him; they just existed on completely different worlds.

He had just grabbed his lunch tray and was moving to sit outside when suddenly a girl appeared next to him and bumped his shoulder. He blinked in confusion at her. She had freckles that dotted a cute nose, and big blue eyes. Her dark red hair swung behind her in a ponytail. And she had a very intense gaze.

"Hi," she said curtly.

"Erm, hi?" he replied cautiously, wondering what she could possibly want.

"We're in the same English class," she said very matter-of-factly, as though this somehow explained everything. "You like _The Lord of the Flies._"

"Uhhh..."

"I like it too. And your description of the conch shell was very precise. And succinct. I like succinctness. Do you know what succinct means?"

"Um, yeah, it means short. And, well that's... Great, really. That you like succinctness," he replied awkwardly, feeling more overwhelmed by the second. Was it too much to ask to have a quiet lunch?

"Yeah, I think so too," she said breathlessly. "What a great word." There was a slight pause; Dick started to say goodbye and prepared himself to run far, far away, but she beat him to it. "Want to have lunch?"

"Well, I should really - wait, what? No!" he sputtered indignantly. Her brow furrowed in annoyance.

"Why not?"

"B-because!" he stammered. "I don't even - we're not - I don't _know_ you!"

"I'm Barbara. Barbara Gordon. But you can call me Babs. And you're Richard Grayson. See, now we know each other. And both of our last names start with 'g.' Isn't that funny?"

"No!" he all but shouted. "And we do not know each other! And we are not having lunch!"

"Well, you're being pretty darn rude," she said, looking offended. "Didn't your parents ever teach you to be polite? And _especially_ to girls. That's called chivalry. Do you know what chivalry means?"

"Gah! Go away!"

"Well maybe I will!" she said indignantly.

"Good!"

"Fine!"

She turned to walk away but then shot a nasty look over her shoulder. "I'm going now!"

"Wonderful!" Dick cried. "Please, go faster!"

Giving him one last ugly look, Barbara strode quickly away. Her wavy hair bounced and swung rapidly as she walked.

Dick glared after her for a moment before shaking his head and walking toward the door. "Geez louise, she's nuts," he muttered.

The rest of his day passed fairly uneventfully, although there was one moment in his biology class when he nearly shattered a beaker because he slammed it onto the counter. He was _very_ chivalrous. Extremely, even. And he most definitely was not rude. _She_ was the rude one. Asking him for lunch, honestly... Who did she think she was?

The last bell of the day eventually rang. He was putting his backpack on when his eyes lit up with realization, and then he groaned. He had left his jacket in the gym locker room during sixth period. "Crud," he muttered, and started to jog down the hall, weaving in and out between the students. Bruce was waiting for him, and would probably wonder why he was late. But it would only take a second, and he didn't really care if Bruce had to sit around for a few extra minutes.

It took very little time to find his jacket; he remembered exactly where he had left it. He walked out of the locker room; the hall was completely empty. He was about to start lightly jogging again when he suddenly heard a noise coming from the gym. Curious, he moved toward the door and peeked through the window. His eyes widened at what he saw.

It was Barbara Gordon, still in her gym clothing. There were three very large, very beefy boys standing around her. And they were shoving her.

In the blink of an eye, he was beyond angry. Barbara Gordon was a weird, annoying girl, but that didn't mean he was going to let anyone push her around. Completely forgetting about Bruce waiting in the car, he burst into the gym. "Hey!" he snarled. "Leave her alone!"

The boys paused; Barbara looked up in shock. Tears were streaming down her face, and Dick felt his anger rising quickly at the sight. One of the boys stepped forward, his face menacing.

"You don't know what's going on here, kid. Scram, and we'll keep you out of it." The other boys puffed up their chests and sneered, obviously trying to look intimidating.

A white rage was spreading, rage that had been building steadily for weeks now; Dick's entire body was trembling, and it probably looked like he was shaking from fear, but it was taking all of his self control to keep himself from attacking them. "You seriously think," he said in a low voice, "that I'm going to leave you here to beat up some girl just because you told me to?"

"Come on, kid, just get out of here!" the older boy said, clearly getting frustrated. "Beat it!" He shoved Dick backwards, or at least he tried to; Dick saw the move coming from a mile away. Growling, he caught the bully's hand, pulled him closer, and punched him square in the nose.

The boy howled in pain and staggered away, bringing his hands to his face. Blood dripped down through his fingers. The two other boys stood in shock for a moment before snarling and moving forward. Barbara frantically stepped in front of them, trying to keep them back.

"No, wait, please," she begged, weakly attempting to push them back. "He was just being an idiot, I'll -" one of them grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the side. Her head hit the wall with a crack and she crumpled to the ground.

And that was the last straw.

Roaring with fury, Dick sprinted forward, leapt into the air, and kicked Barbara's attacker so hard in the chest that the boy was momentarily lifted off of the ground. The boy landed on his back with a grunt. Landing like a cat, Dick saw the one who had threatened him pulling his arm back for a punch, but this was child's play, the boy was just too slow. This was nothing compared to Slade or Batman. He spun around gracefully and hit his opponent with a brutal roundhouse kick; the boy's jaw cracked loudly and he fell to the floor with a cry.

Eyes narrowed, he quickly assessed his situation. The other two, recovered from their previous blows, were moving toward him slowly; at some point, one of them had acquired a baseball bat.

"You're dead, kid!" one of them snarled, and they both charged forward with a cry. Dick prepared himself to leap above them, when out of nowhere Slade's dark voice was whispering in his ear, words from their fight on the rooftop. _You rely too heavily on your acrobatics instead of grounding yourself in the fight. _

Barely having time to think about it, he sunk into a low stance. Instead of jumping above the boy with the bat, he pushed himself into the boy's lower body, placing his hands on the boy's abdomen and chest. The boy's momentum was so great that it took almost no force to throw him across the room. Before he completely released though, Dick managed to grab hold of the baseball bat and wrench it from his would-be attacker's hands. Then, without holding anything back, he turned and swung hard at the other boy whose fist was pummeling toward his face. The bat cracked hard against the boy's jaw, and he fell heavily to the ground and lay still.

Breathing hard, Dick stood up straight and looked around. Only one boy was out cold; the other two were slowly starting to stand up shakily. His gaze darkened; his rage was not satisfied.

Tightening his grip on the baseball bat, he strode forward. He reached the boy with the bloody nose first, who was almost on his feet. Not wasting any time, he slammed the bat into the boy's stomach. The boy's eyes widened and he fell on his knees, gasping for air. Face contorted with rage, Dick hit him again, this time across the back, and then on the head until he was out cold. He moved on to the other boy, whose eyes were wide with terror. "Please, don't!" the boy whimpered, scrambling away; but he didn't listen, the boy needed to be punished. He swung hard. And then he did it again. And again. And the bat kept rising and falling, rising and falling, and the boy was spitting blood but it still wasn't enough, he was still so angry, and the boy was bleeding _so much_...

He could hear screaming, and he didn't know if it was him or the boy or someone else shrieking in horror. He was too lost in the rhythmic swing of the bat, too lost in the sight of the boy feebly trying to crawl away. The screaming didn't matter, it wasn't enough, he couldn't bring himself to stop, until hands were suddenly pulling him away, dragging him away from the villain, and he was so furious, who _dared_ to stop him. He whirled around with a snarl, bat raised, and he froze when he saw Barbara Gordon looking at him with terror, shrinking away in fear.

"Stop," she whispered. "Please stop."

For a moment he was in intense shock; he couldn't quite understand what had just happened. He began to tremble again, only this time it was because he felt ill. He looked down at the bat; suddenly horrified, he dropped it. It fell with a clatter. He looked at Barbara and swallowed heavily, trying not to vomit.

"What happened?" she whispered. "What did you do?"

He wanted to reply that he had protected her, that he had saved her from her attackers. But all he could do was stare at her; she looked so frightened, and there was a large bruise swelling on her face.

He couldn't speak. All he could do was turn and run, out of the gym and far, far away, away from Barbara Gordon, and the three boys looking dead on the ground, and the swollen puddles of blood that gleamed in the light. He ran because he knew that, for at least a moment, he had been exactly like Slade.

And in that moment, he had liked it.


	9. Chapter 9

Dick sat in a plush armchair in Wayne Manor's luxurious living room. His clothing was rumpled; there were a few small spatters of blood on the white sleeves. He was looking down at his knees. His expression seemed calm, but in truth his jaw was clenched tightly, and he was clutching the arm rests with all his might. One leg bounced nervously.

His gaze shot up to the grandfather clock. 8:30 PM. Finally, he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"Alfred," he said softly, his voice quivering from nerves. "How much longer do you think?"

The old butler paused from polishing a table and looked at the clock. He sighed heavily. "He _has_ been at the police station for quite some time. I expect it won't be long now, master Dick. Try to be patient."

Dick nodded curtly and went back to staring at his knees. His stomach was churning; he didn't know if he had ever been so nervous in his life.

Long minutes passed; the only sounds were the persistent ticking of the clock and the occasional thunk or clink as Alfred moved or polished some trinket. Finally, the sound of an opening door jarred the silence. Dick shot up straight in his seat and swallowed; Alfred gave him one pitying glance before quietly gathering his cleaning supplies and exiting the room.

Dick heard the front door close. A pause. And then quick, steady footsteps, coming closer and closer, until finally Bruce Wayne entered the living room. Only he didn't look much like Bruce Wayne at that moment. His face was dark, and he looked livid. To Dick, he looked far more like Batman, and far more frightening. The boy slid down in his seat and flinched.

There was a slight pause as they both stared at each other; Dick was gripping the chair so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Finally, his mentor spoke. "What," Bruce started off, his voice quivering with anger, "happened, exactly?"

Dick looked down at the floor, unable to stand looking at his guardian. "Don't you already know?" he asked quietly.

"It's a bit unclear, Dick," Bruce said in a dark voice, "seeing as Barbara Gordon was unconscious for most of the attack-" Dick flinched at that word, "-and the three other boys are still unconscious at the hospital. So please, enlighten me: What. Happened."

Dick took a shaky breath. "They were pushing her around. Shoving her, hard. She was crying. I came in, told them to stop. They threatened me and I punched one of them. And then they threw her against the wall; she hit her head and fell down, and I just sort of... Snapped."

"You 'snapped?'" Bruce growled. Dick ducked his head, and flinched when Bruce slammed his fist against the wall. "You snapped?! Dick, you put three kids in the hospital today! If you were a legal adult, you could be in prison right now! What were you thinking? Why on earth didn't you find an adult to handle the situation?"

"Because she needed help!"Dick burst out agitatedly. "I couldn't waste the time to find someone!"

"No," Bruce snarled, stepping forward furiously and shutting Dick up. "No, that has _nothing_ to do with it, Dick, and you and I both know it. You just wanted to beat someone up so badly, didn't you? You wanted to _fight_, because that's all you've been thinking about for the past year: fighting. This is not okay, Dick. This is not okay!"

"I'm sorry," Dick whispered fearfully. "I'm so sorry, I - I didn't want -"

"Yeah, well, sorry doesn't cut it this time," Bruce interrupted angrily. "You are so lucky that you were defending the police commissioner's daughter; thank your lucky stars that Barbara spoke up for you, because I think the commissioner will defend you in court."

"Court?" Dick whispered, his stomach dropping horribly.

"Yes, Dick: court," Bruce snapped. "That's what happens when you beat people with a baseball bat. You're damn lucky you're so young; the worst you'll get is going to a juvenile delinquent center, which will almost definitely happen. The parents of these kids are furious; I'll be shocked if they don't sue to cover their kids' hospital bills."

Dick stared wide eyed at his mentor, shocked. He felt like he might throw up. It was true he had expected some kind of punishment, but only from Bruce and the school; he hadn't expected any legal repercussions.

Bruce sighed heavily, and Dick tentatively looked up at him. The man looked less angry now, and more distraught. "The worst of it, Dick," Bruce started off a little shakily, "is that there's a possibility they'll take you away from me."

"What?" Dick blurted out, shooting up out of his chair. "But you didn't even do anything!"

"They don't know that," Bruce replied softly. "All they know is that you missed school for weeks and came back with bruises and scars and a few broken bones, and that you've been less social ever since. And now this happens; what do you think they're going to assume?"

"But - But I mean, that's just crazy!" he blurted out. "You're Bruce Wayne! You give millions of dollars to charities, and you care about people, and - and they wouldn't think that! That would just be stupid!"

Bruce smiled bitterly. "Not as stupid as you might think." Dick scrunched up his brow in confusion, and Bruce rubbed his temples tiredly. "As angry as I am at you, I won't deny that I played a part in this. It's my fault for teaching you how to fight in the first place. I thought it would help with your aggression, but obviously it was a bad decision." He met Dick's gaze; the boy felt ill when he saw the deep regret in the man's look. "I'm so sorry, Richard," the man said quietly. "I really messed up. I really, really did."

"They can't take me away from you," Dick said shakily. Tears blurred his vision. "They just can't. You didn't do _anything_."

Bruce looked at him pityingly. "I don't think they will. I really don't. But it's something that I think you should be aware of, in case it happens."

Dick nodded tearfully and slowly sat back down. There was a long silence. Eventually it became stifling, and Dick hesitantly broke the quiet. "So what happens now?" he asked miserably.

Bruce sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his face. "We wait for the court date," he said dully. "And we hope for the best, whatever that may be."

* * *

A few weeks later, Dick walked miserably down the school hall. It was his first day back since the incident, and since his court date. Surprisingly, things hadn't gone too terribly with the courts; the biggest relief was that Bruce was still his guardian. However, he hadn't been transferred to another school, something he had definitely been hoping for; Bruce thought staying here would build character or something. The problem was that everyone was openly hostile with him, even teachers. Walking down the hall was a nightmare. Kids were either looking at him with terror or with disgust.

It was definitely rough. He felt like he hadn't seen a friendly face all day.

"Dick!" a voice cried out in the hall. He stiffened and walked faster; he didn't know who it was or what they wanted, but he definitely didn't want to deal with it. It was probably some kid who wanted revenge. "Hey, Dick! Dick Grayson!" Everyone was staring now as he plowed his way through the students. He didn't want to know, he didn't want to know...

A bump to the shoulder made him jump, until he saw the offender. His fear instantly vanished to be replaced by annoyance.

"Hi," Barbara Gordon said politely.

"Go away, Barbara," he said gruffly, walking quickly to try to avoid her. "You're the last person on the planet I want to talk to."

"I doubt that," she scoffed, easily keeping pace. "I actually like you, so I'm already much more talk-worthy than half the school. And I told you before: call me Babs."

He rolled his eyes. "What do you want, _Babs_?"

"I just wanted - oh, for goodness sakes, would you slow down?" she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. He crossed his arms and glared at her; she took a deep breath. "I just wanted to thank you. For, you know, saving me and whatnot from those lugs. They wanted to beat me up because daddy threw one of their uncles in prison for dealing drugs. It could have gotten bad, so thanks for stopping them. It was very noble of you."

He blinked in surprise. "I..." he trailed off for a moment and cleared his throat. "Wow, sorry, it's just that you're the first person to tell me that I did a good thing."

"Well I didn't say _that_," she said with a scoff. "You probably could've done without the baseball bat. That was a bit scary."

He stared blankly at her. "You think watching me beat some kids half to death with a baseball bat is a _bit scary_?" he said in disbelief.

She shrugged and bit her lip, not breaking eye contact with him. He blinked one more time, shook his head, and started walking again. "You really are nuts."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied pleasantly, walking with him. "So you really got lucky with the judge, didn't you? Therapy and community service for a year. Daddy was amazed. He thought you'd go to juvie for sure."

"I wish I had," he said softly, feeling a wave of shame.

She gave him an odd look. "That's a funny thing to wish."

"It would've been better than being back here," he said miserably. "Everyone thinks I'm psycho. Either they're terrified of me or they hate me."

There was a slight pause, and then Barbara cleared her throat; he glanced over at her, and was surprised to see that she was blushing, which was odd because it wasn't like she had anything to be embarrassed about. Maybe she was hot, he reasoned. Yes, that had to be it. Sometimes the uniforms could be a little stifling.

"Well _I'm_ not terrified of you, and I don't hate you. And I saw it happen, so if anyone should be scared of you, it's me. So there."

He smiled, feeling oddly touched. "Thanks. That means a lot."

Her face turned even redder, and he wondered why she didn't take her jacket off if she was so hot. Maybe she liked the way it looked? Girls could be weird about fashion, after all, or so he had heard. It wasn't like he'd ever had the chance to spend time with girls his age.

"No problem," she said a little breathlessly, and he slowed down, because obviously it was hard for her to keep up if she was that out of breath. "So, um, I was wondering... How exactly did you beat them?"

"Sorry?" he asked, a little shocked by the question.

She shook her head with wide eyes. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I mean, obviously I know how you _beat_ them, it's not like beating someone up with a baseball bat is complicated..." she trailed off when she saw the look on his face. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I meant to say, how did you win?"

"How did I _win_?"

"Well, yes," she said frankly, and he was glad to see that she wasn't breathless or red in the face anymore; she must have cooled off. "You're much smaller than they are, you see, and not as muscular. So it's just surprising that you won in a fight. And since I was unconscious, I just wanted to know... How?"

"Well it's not always about size," he said, feeling a little defensive. "Sometimes it's about skill."

"Oh," she said, clearly pleased with this answer. "And so you're skilled?"

He shrugged, feeling awkward. "Sort of. Uh, Bruce signed me up for some karate classes once. I guess it stuck."

"Oh," she said again, smiling. "That's just wonderful."

"Um, yeah," he replied, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Wonderful." He couldn't help but wonder if all girls were as complicated and strange as Barbara Gordon.

"So then you could teach me," she said, still smiling.

He stopped walking. "What?" he asked, not quite believing he'd heard her right.

"I said, you could teach me," she repeated slowly. "You know, how to fight."

He gaped at her. "No I couldn't!" he sputtered.

She looked confused. "Well why on earth not?"

He scuffed the ground awkwardly. "Well, I... That is to say... I mean..."

"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it?" she said, looking annoyed.

"I didn't say that," he answered quickly, but his answer didn't placate her.

"You think I'm too weak, don't you?" she said angrily. "Even though you just said you don't have to be big or strong to be a good fighter!"

"Well, I mean, that would definitely _help_..." he said, hoping that would get her off his case.

She stomped the ground furiously and glared daggers at him. "You know what you are, Richard Grayson? A chauvinist! And I bet you don't even know what that means!"

"I am not! And of course I know what it means!" he snapped indignantly, although he had absolutely no clue what a chauvinist was.

"Well I _was_ going to have lunch with you, but now I think I'd rather sit with people who aren't prejudiced!" she retorted furiously.

He threw his hands up in the air. "Good! I didn't want to have lunch with you anyways! You're totally crazy!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am NOT!"

"You're the craziest girl I've ever met!"

"Well if that's how you really feel, then fine!"

"Fine!"

"FINE!" She began to stalk away and then whirled around. "See if I'm ever nice to you again!"

"See if I care!" he yelled back. She huffed furiously and stormed off.

Dick glared after her. "Geez louise, she's totally off her rocker," he muttered, and he chose to ignore the twinge of regret he felt as he watched her walk away. After all, he was nervous about his first therapy session after school, and community service immediately afterward; it would have been nice to have had one friend to cheer him up.

* * *

"Hello there, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson. My name is Dr. Carter." Bruce shook the man's hand first, then Dick. He scrutinized his therapist. The man was older than Bruce, but not ancient. He was balding, and wore thick glasses that he kept removing and cleaning. Overall he looked very normal, but, oddly enough, he seemed very nervous. Along with the glasses cleaning, he was sweating slightly, and there was an odd twitch in his eye.

Bruce noticed it too. "Pleasure to meet you, doctor," he said warily, eyeing the man. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, yes, just fine, just fine," the man said, waving a shaky hand. "Just haven't eaten enough today, you know how work can overwhelm you. Please, have a seat." Dick and Bruce exchanged a glance, but sat in two plush chairs. Dr. Carter sat in his desk; he leaned forward and stared intently at Dick and Bruce. "So, I read the notes from the police report, and looked over your court case. It seems that you have some anger problems, Richard," the man said gently; some of his shakiness seemed to be fading.

Dick looked at the ground, feeling ashamed. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," the man said, as though reading his mind. "You've had a very troubling couple of years, and it's perfectly natural for you to feel confused and upset about what's going on in your own head. While it doesn't excuse what happened with those three boys, you can't entirely blame yourself. Sometimes life gives us too much to handle, and violence is the only way we know how to respond. I'm here to help you find a different response to all of the difficult things you've had to deal with. Now, today we're just going to get to know each other; it'll be very low key." The doctor cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses once more. "Very low key," he repeated in a gruff voice. "Mr. Wayne, my sessions with Richard will be one-on-one, as you know, and everything he tells me, unless I deem it to be threatening to his life or anyone else's, will be strictly confidential. You've already agreed to this in the paperwork." Bruce nodded curtly.

The doctor sighed. "So then, Mr. Wayne, I'm afraid that it's time for you to leave so that Richard and I can get started. As you know, this session will take place three times a week at 3:30: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and his community service will start immediately afterward. What you might not have known is that the group he'll be working for is, conveniently enough, located directly across the street. So there will be no need to come pick him up until 6:00."

"You mean you and I won't talk after each of his sessions?" Bruce asked, looking surprised.

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid not. You and I will meet with Richard each Friday at 6:00 to discuss his progress, but other than that we will not be seeing each other. This is standard for my practice, I assure you. I am, of course, always available to talk over the phone, but most parents - and guardians - find that speaking once a week is sufficient."

"Well, alright," Bruce said, looking a little unsure. "You know best."

The doctor smiled. "Mr. Wayne, I'd like to start with Richard now, if you don't mind."

Bruce nodded and stood up, collecting his briefcase and jacket. He hesitated, looked at Dick, and ruffled the boy's hair. "You'll be fine," he said softly. Dick nodded nervously, not really wanting his guardian to leave. Bruce nodded one more time at Dr. Carter and then smiled back at Dick. "I'll be waiting in the car at 6:00," he said with a sigh. "Thank you, Dr. Carter."

"Certainly," the man said quietly. With one last glance at his ward, Bruce left the room. The door closed with a soft click.

There was a short silence as Bruce's footsteps faded away. Dr. Carter sighed heavily; he seemed almost to collapse in on himself. Dick raised his brows as the man reached into his desk and pulled out... A flask?

"Um... Dr. Carter?" Dick asked nervously as the man took a large swig.

"I really am sorry about this, Richard," the man said wearily. "Truly, truly sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything, but I really didn't have a choice."

"Choice about what?" Dick asked nervously.

The man jerked his head towards a door, one that wasn't the entrance Dick and Bruce had come through. "We'll be having our session in there," he said dully. "If you'll just follow me." The man stood up and slowly walked over to the door. Dick, not knowing what else he could possibly do, followed hesitantly.

Dr. Carter turned the knob slowly; the door opened with a creak. He beckoned for Dick to go in. "Well, go on then."

Feeling very uncertain, Dick walked toward the door. As soon as he was next to Dr. Carter, the man very suddenly and unexpectedly shoved him into the room. He whirled around, shocked, only to find the door slammed shut in his face. He heard the click of a lock.

"Hey!" he shouted nervously, jiggling the door handle to no avail. "What's going on here?"

"Why didn't you hear, _Robin_?" a voice purred from behind him, a voice he had hoped he'd never hear again. He froze, and immediately began to tremble. Slowly, slowly, he turned around. His eyes widened in horror at what he saw.

Slade stood in the middle of a large, empty room, his hands behind his back. The man tilted his head, and even in his thick haze of terror Dick could imagine the smirk that came with the next words. "We're here to talk about your feelings."

* * *

Author's Note: MWHAHAHAHA! Oh the evilness of me. Like it? Love it? Want some more of it/ have constructive criticism? Review! Thanks for the support you guys!


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Yes, the moment you've all been waiting for: Slade and Robin meet again! Next chapter might take a bit to come up; I need to sit down and really just think about where this story is going before I write any more. Thank you so much for all of the support! You guys really do keep me going. Aaaaand here's chapter 10. Enjoy!

* * *

For a moment, all Dick could do was stare at the powerful man before him in sheer terror. Slade looked pleased; his one eye glinted smugly behind the mask. And then Dick did the only thing he felt he could in the situation.

He screamed.

"Dr. Carter!" he shrieked, whirling away from Slade and frantically banging his fists on the door. "Please let me out, please please pl-"

He was interrupted by a hand firmly grasping his shoulder and unceremoniously tossing him across the room. Unlike Dr. Carter's office, the floor in this room was uncarpeted cement, and it hurt terribly when he slammed into it and skidded a few feet. Trembling, he leapt to his feet. He was a little sore, but unharmed. He gazed wide eyed at Slade, who was standing calmly with his hands behind his back.

"I think you'll find that Dr. Carter is currently unavailable," Slade said pleasantly.

"Why are you here?" Dick asked shakily.

The man shrugged and began to walk forward slowly; Dick was reminded of a tiger stalking through tall grasses toward its prey. "Maybe I just missed you."

Even through his terror, Dick still had the presence of mind to scoff at that. He backed away as Slade approached.

The one eye narrowed. "_Richard_, I'm offended," Slade purred, and Dick could almost see Slade's words oozing through the mask's grate like melted chocolate. The boy grimaced at the way Slade said his name; somehow it sounded like an insult. He preferred it when the man called him Robin. "We had so much fun the last time we were together."

"You have a very messed up idea of fun," Dick growled.

"At least _I_ don't use a baseball bat when I'm having 'fun,'" Slade retorted slyly.

Dicks' face paled at that, and then his expression hardened. "How did you find out who I really am?"

Slade tilted his head to the side and, to Dick's relief, stopped moving forward. "You're asking the wrong question. What you should be asking is, what will I do with that information, and what can you do to stop me?"

"Okay," Dick said, swallowing heavily. "So what will you do with it and how can I stop you?"

Slade moved forward again, and yes, there was definitely a predatory glint in his eye. Dick forced himself to stand perfectly still, even when Slade lowered his head to lock gazes with him and was so close Dick's nose was almost bumping the mask.

"Oh, I think selling the information to all of the Dark Knight's _favorite_ criminals would be a good place to start," Slade breathed. "The Joker, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Riddler... They'd _love_ to know about Bruce Wayne, I'm sure."

"Don't," Dick pleaded intently, eyes wide with fear. "Please, he can give you money, security, anything you want."

Slade tisked lightly and moved away, now walking around the boy in a circle. "Come now, Richard, be a little smarter, hm? Your grades point to a fine mind, and you certainly seemed bright enough when we talked two months ago. I would hate it if you _disappointed me_." Dick bristled at that and clenched his fists. Slade continued in a drawling, almost bored, voice. "If I wanted money from Gotham's richest vigilante, don't you think I would have simply had this conversation with him? He was just here, in case you've forgotten."

"I didn't forget," Dick said through gritted teeth. He didn't know if it was just his own anger issues or if there was something specific about Slade, but for some reason the more time he spent with the man the more his fear faded into anger. "I just don't understand what you could want from me. I'm _twelve_."

"Almost thirteen. Your birthday's in March," Slade said with a smirk in his voice and stopped directly behind Dick. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders. Dick stiffened and tried to move away, but the grip tightened painfully and he stood still. "Almost thirteen and so full of anger," Slade mused. "Tell me, _Robin_, how good did it feel to beat those boys up? Didn't you just feel so alive when you watched them bleed, when you heard that dull smack as the bat hit their bodies? They were so weak compared to you. It must have felt wonderful to finally be stronger, _better_, than someone else, after being in the bat's shadow for so long."

"Stop it," Dick snarled, and wrenched himself out of Slade's grasp, furious because he knew the man was right. "It wasn't - _I_ wasn't - I was helping someone!"

"Yes, little Barbara Gordon," Slade said softly. "So defenseless and pitiful. But I have to wonder, Robin -" and Dick was grateful the man wasn't calling him 'Richard' anymore - "I have to wonder if hospitalizing her attackers was really necessary." Dick clenched and unclenched his fists, unsure what he could say. "But we're off topic. You wanted to know why I'm here." Slade's eye narrowed. "Any educated guesses?"

Dick stared at the man blankly for a moment and then let his mind kick into high gear. He bit his lip and stared off into space, thinking hard. "You..." he started hesitantly, "You want information on Batman?"

"Certainly a good guess," Slade admitted, and for some reason Dick was pleased to hear approval in the man's voice. "But no. Think outside of Batman, Robin. This is about _you_."

Dick furrowed his brow in confusion. "But I'm... I mean, what could you possibly want from me?"

"What did the Dark Knight want from you?" Slade said softly. "Figure it out, Robin. It's not so hard once you think outside the box."

And then suddenly it clicked, the only possible reason Slade would be blackmailing him and him alone. But it was so absurd, so ridiculously self-centered to think that a man like Slade would want anything to do with him, that he shot the idea down almost as soon as he thought of it.

"I saw that look in your eyes," Slade said intently. "You know, Robin. Say it."

Dick's face flushed, certain his crazy theory couldn't possibly be right, certain that Slade would laugh at his stupidity, which he wouldn't be able to bear. He hated nothing more than feeling inferior. "You..." he hesitated and cleared his throat. He didn't look the man in the eye. "You want to... Train me."

There was a silence, and Dick's shame was so great that for a time he didn't look up. Finally unable to bear it, he painfully met the man's gaze.

Slade wasn't laughing. He didn't look amused.

He was nodding, and suddenly Dick was frightened again.

"But - But you can't!" he blurted out desperately. "I'm not a criminal, I'm a hero, I -"

"I can," Slade said darkly, shutting Dick up. "And I will. And don't fool yourself, you're hardly a hero. You haven't even gone out to fight crime once since our little encounter; you've just been playing the timid little school boy. I wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Knight had stopped training you."

Dick lowered his gaze at that, ashamed of the reminder. Slade noticed. "Ah, so he has. Well, as I said, I'm not surprised. But if that's the case, I'm shocked you're not jumping at my offer."

"I'm not working for a criminal," he said determinedly.

"You seem to be forgetting the whole 'blackmail' aspect of this arrangement," Slade drawled sarcastically. "If you don't do what I want, I _will_ give Batman's identity to his enemies, and they _will_ destroy him. I'm hardly asking for much, Robin, and you'll gain far more than you'll lose. Put aside your morals and think of what I can teach you."

Dick shook his head, desperately trying to find some reason that Slade's plan couldn't work. "Batman - Bruce - he'll know, he'll figure it out. I can't hide something like that from him."

"Why do you think I went to the trouble of getting all of _this_ set up?" Slade replied, waving a hand at the room.

Dick scrunched his face up in confusion. "What do you -?"

"Therapy, Robin?" Slade interrupted sardonically. "_Community service_? You beat three young boys to the brink of death. By all means you should be in a juvenile detention center right this very second. And you would be, except that I... _persuaded_ the judge to think differently."

"You're the reason -?"

"Yes. I'm also the reason that community service would immediately follow your therapy sessions, if you were actually going to do community service or therapy. That way Bruce Wayne has no need to come pick you up until 6:00, giving you and I two and a half hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to train."

"So," Dick started, struggling to understand through the whirlwind of his thoughts, "While Bruce thinks I have therapy and community service, all that time you and I would train here together?"

"Congratulations, you've solved my evil plot," Slade said dryly.

Dick narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Is there even a community service center across the street?"

"There is. And before you ask, Carter is, in fact, a real doctor. You can imagine how pleased I was at the convenience of the locations, although I suppose it was set up that way purposefully for troubled youths like yourself. It didn't take much to keep the volunteer center quiet, although Carter took a bit of work."

Robin felt his anger rising at the thought of the doctor who had thrown him in here. "What's Carter got to do with all of this anyway? Why is he working for you?"

"At first he abhorred me. He thought it was barbaric for me to 'corrupt you.'" Slade's eye glittered menacingly. "But our dear James Carter has a very lovely wife and two adorable children; he had a sudden change of heart when I pointed a gun at them."

Dick's eyes widened, and he instantly felt a swell of pity for Carter. No wonder the man had handed him over.

"Any other questions?" Slade asked, interrupting Dick's thoughts and sounding bored. "Or are you going to lecture me on my skewed perception of morality?"

"No point in doing that," Dick muttered. "Obviously you're _way_ far gone."

"Giving up on me so soon? I'm disappointed. I thought you would have tried to save me."

"You're not worth it," Dick said in disgust. He could feel Slade's smile.

"What an interesting thing for a _hero_ to say," Slade purred.

Getting frustrated, Dick decided to change the subject. "So if you want to train me so badly and you blackmailed the judge, why didn't you just make him take me away from Bruce? It would have been more _convenient_," he snarled

"I did think about it," Slade admitted, and Dick wanted nothing more than to punch the man at that moment. "But for one thing, it would have been... difficult. Persuading the judge would have been easy, but the actual process of adopting you would have taken time. On top of that, Batman would have done background checks on anyone attempting to adopt you, and he would have been extremely thorough. I have no doubt that, given enough time, he would have seen through my ruse and chased you and I around the world to get you back, a hassle I'd like to avoid."

Slade paused and tilted his head, contemplating Dick. "But I also knew you would hate me even more if I took you away from your guardian, and I didn't want that. I know you dislike me -" Dick raised his brows in disbelief; _that_ was the understatement of the century. "- but I have a lot to offer you, Robin. I understand your anger, your desire to fight, and unlike Bruce Wayne I am not frightened by it. It's who you are; it's your identity. I can help you learn to control that anger, use it as a tool against your enemies without letting it blind you. I can teach you things Batman wouldn't show you in your entire lifetime. I will not treat you as a child; I will respect your abilities. And Robin..." The man's voice dropped a little. "I can get you Tony Zucco." Slade held up his palms. "I ask for nothing in return, except your willing cooperation."

Dick couldn't reply. He stared, open-mouthed and shocked. After being told for so long that hunting Zucco was forbidden, now Slade was literally offering his parents' killer on a silver platter.

Bruce would tell him to think this offer through, and he really did try to for a minute. Yes, he would keep Bruce and Alfred safe, but in return he would become a criminal. He would learn how to steal. He would probably learn how to kill.

_But it was Tony Zucco_.

He didn't have to think about it, really, even as he stood there and pretended to contemplate Slade's offer. What choice did he have? Even if he didn't want Slade's tutelage (and he still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it) he couldn't let the man reveal Batman's identity. And more than that, though he hated admitting it, he knew Slade was right, about fighting and anger being a part of his identity. He knew Bruce meant well when he said he wanted Dick to have a normal life, but it just wasn't possible. He couldn't lead a normal life now that he had encountered the criminal filth that crept in the dark, and now that he knew he could stop them.

If Bruce wouldn't train him to be a hero, fine. Slade would train him to be a thief. And someday, when he was strong enough, he would throw Slade behind bars and use all of the man's training to fight crime. It was the only option he had.

"When do we start?" he asked softly.

Slade's eye gleamed.

* * *

At 6:00 sharp, Bruce Wayne pulled up in his sleek sports car in front of The Caring Hands Volunteer Center. Dick was sitting on the sidewalk looking pensive. Frowning, Bruce rolled down the window.

"Ready to go?" he yelled at his ward. The boy looked up, nodded, and stood up to get in the car.

Once they were driving, Bruce cleared his throat to break the silence. "So, uh, how'd it all go?" he asked gruffly. Inwardly he was panicking; he wanted this to work. He wanted Dick to be happy again. But the boy had probably hated it, hated him, this wasn't going to -

"Actually, it was really... Good," Dick said softly, and out of the corner of Bruce's eye, he saw the boy smile. "Not exactly what I was expecting, but I think it'll be good."

"Good," Bruce said, feeling an immense wave of relief. He suddenly noticed that Dick's clothes were scuffed up. "So what exactly were you doing?" he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Picking up trash around the neighborhood," Dick said easily. "Caring Hands does a lot of different things, but that's what I've been assigned to do. They told me I should wear better clothes next time. Tennis shoes, shorts, loose shirts. You know, kind of work out clothes."

"I guess that makes sense," Bruce said with a shrug. "And Dr. Carter was good?"

"Yup," Dick said, looking out the window. "Nice guy. Really understanding." The boy suddenly seemed to be bothered by something. "Hey, Bruce..." His voice trailed off, and Bruce raised a questioning brow. "Never mind," the boy muttered, looking embarrassed.

"What is it?" Bruce asked softly, expecting something about crime fighting, or anger issues, or therapy, or whatever else may have been troubling his ward.

Dick looked uncomfortable. "It's just... Well, it's been bothering me all day, to be honest..." He cleared his throat and turned scarlet. "What's a chauvinist?"

* * *

AN: Oooh, how long will Slade's plan work before Batman figures it out? ...Actually, that's a really good question. I'll have to sit down and think about it. If anyone has any logistical questions or issues, send me a message or just review! Your input is critical right now for where this story is going to end up, so please give me your thoughts.

Also, I actually don't know when Richard Grayson's birthday is, so I just made it in April for the sake of convenience. Hope that doesn't bother anyone.


	11. Chapter 11

Hola! I know it's been a while, but you'll be happy to know that I have a general idea of where this story is headed. Three cheers for outlines! I need to refine it more, but I figured you guys had waited long enough for a new chappie. Also, I know I say this a lot, but THANK YOU for the reviews. You guys seriously rock. Enjoy!

* * *

The rest of the night, Dick acted perfectly normal. He ate everything on his plate for dinner. He was polite. He was engaged in conversation. He even smiled, something that had been a rarity in the past few weeks. He knew Bruce and Alfred were encouraged by his behavior; they kept raising brows and smiling at each other when they thought he wouldn't notice. After dinner he proclaimed he was tired and ready to go to his room. Bruce and Alfred both heartily wished him a good night's rest. He smiled and thanked them and calmly went up the plush, carpeted stairs, all the way to the third floor. He walked down the hall to his room. He then changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth. He turned off the lights and got into bed, snuggling under his covers.

Then, very calmly, he grabbed his pillow and proceeded to scream into it for about forty five seconds.

_Oh my god_, his inner self panicked. _Oh my god ohmygod ohmygod. What did you do?! What were you_ thinking?!

_What else was I supposed to do?_ he mentally cried indignantly.

_Anything but what you did!_ Inner Richard replied frantically. _You just signed your life away to the guy who beat the snot out of you! Remember that little incident? Or were you too busy fawning over his compliments and cool armor?!_

_ He does have cool armor,_ Dick admitted to himself. _But I did not fawn! I am not a... a fawner!_

It was his use of the word "fawner" that made him realize he was acting like a lunatic and that if he had any hope of preserving his sanity he needed to end his imaginary conversation. Taking deep breaths, he pushed Inner Richard out of his head and thought through his options.

Option 1. Tell Bruce the truth

**Pros**: 1) I wouldn't have to deal with the guilt of lying to my mentor.

2) He could help me out of this situation... Somehow. With his super-awesome-Batman skills. And we could put Slade behind bars.

3) I wouldn't have to survive Slade's training.

**Cons**: 1) Slade could find out that I told Bruce, and before Bruce has a chance to defeat him...

a) ...Slade could get mad and reveal Batman's identity.

b) ...Slade could get mad and kill me.

c) ...Slade could get mad and kill Bruce and Alfred.

d) ...Slade could get mad and kidnap me and I'd never see Bruce and Alfred again.

2) Slade wouldn't train me. And I'd be stuck being schoolboy Dick Grayson forever.

Option 2. Lie to Bruce and keep up the training with Slade

**Pros**: 1) Slade doesn't reveal Batman's identity.

2) Slade doesn't kill us all.

3) Slade trains me and I get super-awesome-Slade skills.

4) Slade gives me Zucco.

**Cons**: 1) I have to deal with the enormous butthead that is Slade three times a week.

2) I have to lie to Bruce.

3) This is dangerous and stupid and I'm in way over my head and no matter what I do I'm basically screwed so _why should I rationalize this anyway?!_

Dick decided to scream into his pillow one more time for good measure. Once that was over, he stared blankly up at the yawning darkness of his ceiling.

He didn't want to admit it. He really didn't. But if he was honest with himself, he was really only trying to think this through for show. He already knew what he wanted.

He wanted to be strong, like Batman. He wanted to be cunning, like Slade.

He wanted to be the best.

And right now, training with Slade was the only way that was going to happen. The truth was, even if he knew with absolute certainty that Batman could find a way to defeat Slade before the criminal found out and revealed Batman's identity... Even if he _knew_ that, he would still probably keep his mouth shut and train with Slade. He wanted the man's tutelage, because even though Slade was totally evil and the jerkiest of all the jerks, the guy knew how to fight. And Dick was going to do whatever it took to learn how to be just as good. He had made up his mind, and nothing was going to change it.

All the same, he didn't sleep very well.

* * *

Tuesday passed in a blur. Everything was fuzzy, nondescript. Focusing in class was impossible. All he could think about was training with Slade, training with Slade, training with _Slade_...

The only event that really stuck out to him was when he ran into Barbara Gordon in the hallway after English class. She stuck her nose up in the air and haughtily walked by him without saying a word. He rolled his eyes and ignored the very slight sting he felt. He was far too distracted with far more important things to care about stupid ol' Babs... Much.

Before Dick knew it, Wednesday afternoon had arrived. Time for his second "therapy session."

He fidgeted restlessly during the entire drive over to Dr. Carter's practice. He had a change of workout clothes with him in a small black bag, and he nervously zipped and unzipped the bag over and over. When Bruce asked him what was wrong, he quickly replied that he was nervous for his first "real" therapy session, since the last one had just been about getting to know one another.

He was only partly lying. After all, this was his first training session with Slade. He had no idea what to expect. Would the man be cruel? Almost certainly. But maybe not. Maybe Slade would be encouraging while also expecting a lot from Dick. Or maybe he would just have no idea how to train someone and the whole thing would be a disaster. Or maybe -

"Dick?" Bruce said softly, gently interrupting the boy's thoughts. "We're here."

"Right!" the boy squeaked, and then coughed and said in a gruffer voice, "Er, I mean, right." His heart thudded in his chest.

"It'll be fine, Dick," Bruce said sympathetically, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I promise, you'll do great."

Even though Bruce literally had no idea what was going on, his words still bolstered Dick's confidence. Nodding at his mentor and offering a small smile, he opened the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, clutching the small black bag in a death grip.

"So I'll see you at six o'clock sharp, alright?" Bruce called out to him. Too nervous to speak, Dick just nodded. Bruce looked concerned. "Okay, I'll... See you later, I guess. Good luck."

"Yup," the boy managed to croak out, and Bruce nodded once before driving away.

He felt very small, standing there by himself on the sidewalk and watching his only possible protector drive off into the distance.

It took a moment, but he managed to gather the courage necessary to walk into Carter's practice. He found himself in the waiting room. An older woman was busily typing away behind the reception desk. The whole thing felt very surreal.

The woman looked up and smiled. "Hello, Richard. Dr. Carter is waiting for you in his office."

It suddenly struck him that Carter's employees probably had no idea what was really going on. The situation suddenly became even more absurd, if such a thing were possible.

"Thanks," he said softly, and walked past the desk, down the hall, stopping only at the bathroom so he could change into his gym shorts, tennis shoes, and old gray shirt.

What seemed like decades later, he stepped into Carter's office. The man was slumped over his desk and looked fast asleep. His face was pale and worn, and Dick felt a swell of pity. Deciding there was no point in waking him, he tiptoed over to the fateful door behind which Slade would surely be waiting. Feeling both dread and excitement, he turned the knob and slowly stepped into the large, empty room.

No one was there.

Furrowing his brow in confusion, he closed the door behind him and walked into the middle of the room. "Uh... Hello?"

Slade gave him what could only be described as a chipper greeting by sweeping his feet out from under him. Wide eyed, he crashed to the ground with a yelp, painfully landing on his butt. Glaring, he leapt to his feet and whirled around, expecting to find Slade standing in front of him.

The man wasn't there.

He wrinkled his brow. "What the -"

This time it was a blow to his back that sent him careening across the room. He barely had the time to fit in a hand spring and prevent himself from crashing once more onto the concrete. Stumbling a little, he clenched his hands into fists and glared around the room, trying to find his attacker.

"You're a little old to be playing hide and seek, aren't you?" he cried out in frustration, his eyes darting to every corner of the room. His gaze snapped to the left just in time, for Slade's fist was hurtling toward him. Gasping, he ducked and narrowly avoided the blow, but he wasn't fast enough to dodge Slade's kick that left him sprawled on the ground once more. Groaning, he looked up and saw the man standing over him, looking calm and at ease.

"Unlike you, Robin, I have the power to do whatever I want," Slade said pleasantly. "It must be so frustrating to always be too weak to do anything about your situation." Dick gritted his teeth in annoyance, and was about to stand up when Slade's next words froze him in place. "Tell me, Robin, how useless were you exactly when Tony Zucco murdered your parents? Did you stand there and drool stupidly with shock? Or did you just scream and cry and throw a little tantrum?"

Dick lay on the ground, stunned. For a moment the words didn't process; when they did, his eyes widened with hurt. "I..."

"But you really shouldn't blame yourself for your parents' death, even if you _were_ useless," Slade went on, tilting his head slightly. "After all, it was their own idiocy that got them killed. Rather stupid of them, wasn't it, Robin? To perform such a dangerous act when they had a young boy to take care of. You would think they'd be more careful, knowing they were all you had in the world..."

"Stop it," Dick said in a low voice, feeling his anger rise. He had no idea why Slade was bringing this up. This had nothing to do with training. This was just... Petty. Cruel.

Slade carried on as though he hadn't heard him.

"But maybe it wasn't stupidity. Maybe they just didn't care about you enough to quit circus life. They must not have loved you at all, really. Or at least they didn't love you _enough_."

"I said stop it!" Dick snarled, standing up. "I mean it, Slade! Stop talking about my parents like that or I'll -"

"Or you'll what?" Slade said with a scoff. "You're weak, _Dick_. You're slow and pathetic, so pathetic you could do nothing to save your parents. You _failed_ them. Do you cry yourself to sleep at night because you miss them? You shouldn't, you know. Your parents were selfish, and they hated having to raise you. They probably welcomed death with open arms so they wouldn't have to deal with such a _disappointment_ like you."

"Shut up!" Dick screamed, lunging forward and swinging wildly at Slade. The man easily dodged his attack.

"Pathetic," he scoffed. "Your parents were right to resent having to raise you."

"I said shut up!" Dick attacked blindly, pouring all of his rage and hurt and sorrow into every blow. Slade easily evaded every hit, and it made him even angrier. Through it all, Slade didn't attempt to strike back even once.

And then, moving smoothly and quickly, the man easily knocked Dick to the ground and pinned the boy down. Dick writhed and screamed in his grip, still attempting to attack the man.

"Calm down, Robin," Slade said softly. "Calm down."

"You - you - I hate you!" Dick spat out, clawing at the man's arms. "You're wrong about everything, you're wrong!"

"I know," Slade said calmly.

"You don't know anything about my -! Wait, what?" Dick was so surprised he actually stopped trying to get away and just blinked up at Slade in confusion. "But... But I -"

"I know nothing about your parents, Robin," Slade said quietly, still keeping the boy pinned down. "And you are not pathetic, or weak; if you were, I would have no interest in you."

"But then why -"

"Look at yourself, Robin," Slade said intently. "Look at where you are right now, and think about the way you just behaved."

Obediently, Dick did. And then his face flushed with shame.

"Now," Slade continued, still in a soft voice, "Did your anger aid you in the fight?"

"No," Dick said quietly.

"Did you think rationally? Did you face me with a clear head, attempting to assess my weaknesses and determine the best course of action?"

"No."

Slade's eye narrowed. "I am a dangerous enemy, Robin, not just because I have more experience than you but because I know what makes you tick. Words can be just as powerful as fists, and I will not be the last enemy you face who understands what makes you angry. With that in mind, did you handle this situation the best way you could have?"

"No," the boy said in a small voice, feeling more ashamed by the second.

"You might think this to be a cruel lesson, especially for our first session together," Slade said softly. "And maybe you'd be right to think that. But until this point, your anger has not actually made you weak. True, it's gotten you into trouble, but it has never put your life in danger, has never left you vulnerable. Batman was kind to you, so you never fought him with anger. The bullies who attacked Barbara Gordon were weak and stupid, so you were able to blindly attack them with rage and still win easily. But when you are fighting an opponent of equal or greater strength, your anger will only hinder you, and you _will lose_. I chose this as the first lesson because the only way to understand the weakness of emotion is to experience it firsthand. Your anger is a part of you, but it does not define or drive you; allow it to control you and you will be weak. After this point, you will not attack out of rage again, Robin. From now on, as my student, you will do better. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the boy said softly, nodding abashedly.

"Excellent," Slade said approvingly, and his voice was suddenly pitched back to a sly purr. He stood up, and Dick did the same, brushing some dirt off of his clothes. "Well then, now that _that's_ over with, we can begin. Let's start with the basics, shall we?"

* * *

Hours later, Slade relaxed in bed with a glass of wine. He had a soft smile playing on the corners of his lips. His one eye stared off into things unseen, things yet to come; it gleamed in the dim light of the room.

He knew he had hurt the boy today with his words, even after he had rescinded them. Robin had tried his best with the training, but after the verbal beating Slade had given him the boy had been troubled, distracted. Not unexpected; Slade didn't have to be a mastermind to know that his words had probably mirrored some of Robin's darker thoughts. Words cut deepest when they were true. And that had been his plan anyway, to sew some seeds of discontent in the boy's mind. After all, if Slade had any hope of becoming the sole guardian figure for Robin, he needed to crack the boy's rose tinted glasses when it came to matters of his parents.

But it hardly mattered that Robin had been upset, because despite that fact the boy had genuinely _tried_. Slade's biggest worry about the situation had been keeping the boy motivated to train; he had expected surliness, disrespect, anger. But after the first "lesson," Robin had not displayed any of these traits. The boy seemed genuinely eager to learn from him. He hadn't had to bring up the blackmail even once.

Simply put, things couldn't have gone any better.

He took a long sip, savoring the richness of the wine. With the serum for immortality rushing through his veins, his metabolism acted too quickly for the alcohol to work as a depressant on his body. However, despite the fact that he couldn't exactly get that warm buzz, he still enjoyed imbibing as an act of celebration. And there was much to celebrate tonight, for things were finally going his way. Tiny steps in his plan were suddenly starting to come together. Finding Robin and beginning training with the boy was only a small (but key) part of the grand machine.

He thought of the chip he had stolen the night he had met the boy. He thought of the sladebots, able to function on their own now. He thought of the army assembling itself far beneath the earth. And he thought about what he would accomplish with that army when the time came.

But mostly, he thought of Robin, and wondered where the future would take the two of them. He had plans for the boy, of course, but he recognized that plans could change in the blink of an eye. Still, today had been an excellent start. With this in mind, he raised his glass in a silent toast to the boy. "Apprentice," he murmured, and swigged the last of the wine. Then, turning out the lights and lying down, Slade stared into the swirling darkness of the room, waiting for sleep to come. And when it did, he dreamed of the eternal end to his loneliness and of a bright and distant future.


	12. Chapter 12

I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading the horrendously awkward interaction below as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Kirokokori: Thank you thank you thank you for the advice about the adverbs. They were out of control and I didn't even notice. I tried to keep an eye on it in this chapter, so hopefully it'll be better. *thumbs up* You rock.

You guys are the bomb; keep on keepin' on.

* * *

After the first 'lesson,' Dick had been nervous about training with Slade; too much of what the man had said about his parents had rung true. He had wondered if every session would be as emotionally jarring. But he had taken Slade's words about controlling his anger to heart, and Slade had not felt a need to repeat the lesson. And since then, things had been... Well, 'perfect' felt a little too optimistic. Regardless, it was close enough.

Training with Slade was extremely different from training with Bruce. Bruce was soft sometimes, understanding. He was gentle and patient. Slade, on the other hand, gave the impression that if Dick didn't master a move quickly enough, the boy would probably die. The lessons were highly intense, and Slade was extremely critical. If Dick's stance were an inch too narrow, Slade would demonstrate his point by knocking the boy off his feet. If his fists were too low, or too high, or his kicks weren't powerful enough or fast enough or whatnot, the result was often the same.

And Dick loved it.

True, it was sometimes annoying to be knocked down constantly, or flung across the room, but Slade was never cruel about it. The man did it to prove his point: that whatever Dick was doing wrong was a weakness in the fight, and that if he expected to survive the big leagues he had to fix it right away. Dick took it very seriously, and Slade's words quickly became sacred to him.

That wasn't to say that he _liked_ Slade; far from it. The man was a butt head. However, he certainly respected everything Slade had to say about fighting, and they didn't ever talk about much else. The moment Dick walked into the room they were both focused on the fight, and that was that. After two weeks of training, Dick still knew nothing about his newfound mentor, other than that the man had a wicked right hook, and he doubted Slade knew much more about him. Unlike training with Bruce, training with Slade seemed to come with the package that there would be no relationship involved. But this was fine; better than fine, really. Dick certainly hadn't forgotten the beating Slade had given him so long ago, and the blackmail hanging over his head. He had no desire to make friends. He wanted to learn, and that was that.

While things were indeed going well, he still wondered why exactly Slade wanted to train him. It seemed like such a waste of the man's valuable time. Even more than that, he wondered what Slade was up to when he wasn't with him. The man couldn't possibly be focused on only him... Could he?

He was pondering over such things on a Wednesday afternoon when Barbara Gordon walked by him in the hall. His eyes flicked up and found her face, and without thinking about it he found his mouth twitching into a tentative smile (although he didn't know _why_; the girl infuriated him, to say the least). She looked surprised for a moment, and then huffed angrily and stormed by him.

He raised his brows and shook his head. "Girls," he muttered. But he felt a definite sting, and a little indignation. What had he done to her to deserve her anger? He was trying to be nice, for goodness' sakes, and she just treated him like dirt. And it didn't help that no one else at school was being nice to him either. By the time he was sitting down for his next class, his irritation had transformed into righteous anger.

He carried that anger with him for the next several hours. Bruce certainly noticed on the way over to therapy. When the man gently asked what was going on, Dick snapped that he didn't want to talk about it, thank you very much. He and Bruce hadn't been talking much recently, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to have a heart-to-heart about girls. He was still angry when he got out of the car, and his emotions hadn't faded by the time he started training with Slade. They always warmed up with some light sparring, only today Dick went into it with his head clouded.

Why didn't Babs like him? he pondered as he ducked a kick. She had been so friendly to him before, always being a nuisance and following him around. And heck, he had practically saved her life. Where did she get off, anyway? And why did he care? After all (he quickly backflipped to avoid an uppercut) a few weeks ago he would have done anything to get rid of her. She was always defining words and trying to show how smart she was, and she always acted really intense, like she just wanted to be the best at everything...

It was only when Slade sent him flying across the room that he had an epiphany. Falling hard to the ground and rolling across the concrete floor, he suddenly realized that he wanted Barbara Gordon to like him.

"Geez Louise, when did that happen?" he wheezed, forcing himself to sit up.

"When you started fighting angry," Slade said with a scowl in his voice, standing above him. "Honestly, Robin, do we really need to have this talk again? I thought I made myself clear the first time."

"No, no, I just sort of, uh, had a realization," the boy said hastily, not wanting a repeat of the last lesson on anger. "I'm good now."

But he wasn't good, which was made clear when he started staring off blankly into space as Slade tried to instruct him on a new technique. In the middle of the lecture, the man suddenly growled in frustration. Eyes widening with fear, Dick knew he had pushed his luck too far.

"Robin," Slade said darkly. "I don't ask for much -" _that_ was a laugh, Dick thought, holding back a scoff, "- but I do ask that you stay focused when I am taking the time to teach you." The man seemed to be growing taller. The one eye glowed with fury in his dark frame. Terrified, Dick took a shaky step back. "And if I don't receive that basic respect," Slade continued in a snarl, "I get... _Upset_."

The man moved forward menacingly, the air around him crackling with pure rage, and Dick yelped, backtracking away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he squeaked, fumbling desperately for an adequate explanation. "It's just... _It's just_... GIRLS!"

Slade stopped dead in his tracks. The one eye widened in what looked like deep-seated confusion. "I... what?" The man's voice might have cracked a little bit.

Dick flushed scarlet. "I, well... Well geez, it's not like _that_! It's just that there's this girl -" Slade was looking more horrified by the second, "- and I want her to be my friend, which is weird because she's so obnoxious, but no one else has been measuring up, you know? For being my friend, I mean! Everyone's just stupid or naive, and she's really smart - too smart for her own good, really, but anyway -" Dick shut his mouth when Slade held up a hand.

There was a pause. Then, in a steady voice that nevertheless sounded somewhat forced, "I fail to see how this such a _distracting_ problem for you."

"She's mad at me," Dick sighed. "And I don't know what to do about it. And I just... I want her to like me. As a friend!" he added quickly, and he could've imagined it but it looked like Slade's eye actually twitched.

There was silence for a moment. Then Slade did the most human thing Dick had ever seen him do.

He brought a hand to his head and groaned.

"_Why_, in God's name, are you talking to _me_ about this?"

Dick threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I don't know! I just... You're just here in the moment right now, alright? Look, okay, let me just get your opinion on this. I smiled at her in the hall today, right? And she totally blew me off! Like, what the heck did I do wrong? I'm trying to be a nice guy!"

Biting his lip and giving Slade a pleading look, Dick bounced in place and waited almost desperately for some advice. Slade, for his part, looked utterly lost. "Robin..." the man finally started with a sigh, running a hand over his mask. "I am literally the last person on earth you should be asking about this."

"Can't you give me something? _Anything_?"

"I... Well, I don't know," Slade said, sounding bewildered and intensely uncomfortable. "Give her something she wants, maybe? A gift or something. Girls like that."

"A gift?" Dick asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yes!" Slade replied, sounding relieved that Dick had latched onto something. "Yes, a gift. Chocolate or something."

"Yeah, chocolate," Dick said slowly, a smile spreading across his face. An idea was starting to form. "Or something."

"Excellent," Slade said a shade desperately, sounding for all intents and purposes like a man who had just dodged a bullet. "So then, now that we've resolved that we can get back to -"

"But what if she doesn't like it?" Dick asked, brow furrowed. "What if-"

He was interrupted when Slade suddenly leapt forward and twisted his arm behind his back.

"Ow!" he yelped, writhing in his mentor's grip. "Ow ow ow! Let g-"

"Robin," Slade growled, effectively shutting his protege up. "Your first lesson was to fight without anger, and so far you've done pretty well with it. Here's your second: _women are not that complicated_. More importantly, you should _never_ allow yourself to lose focus in a fight over a romantic interest."

"It's not like that!" Dick yelled indignantly. "I just want to be friends!"

Slade rolled his eye and forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. _Don't kill him, don't kill him, this is all part of the mentor-student bonding experience, and really you should be grateful it's not 'the talk,' just a crush, you can do this..._ "Fine. Then never allow your... Your female _friends_ to distract you in a fight." Slade cleared his throat and continued in a gruff voice. "Your body is going through... _Changes_, that will make it difficult for you to stay clear-headed when it comes to women, or whoever you become attracted to-"

"Gah!" Dick yelped in horror, renewing his struggle to escape. "I don't want to hear this! We already learned about that stuff in health!"

"But you have to stay focused," Slade forged on sternly. "It will be hard, but you cannot allow any emotional problems you may be having with girls - ah, female friends - to distract you from your training. When you walk into this room, nothing distracts you, Robin. Nothing at all. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" Dick cried. "Yes, I get it!"

"Good," Slade said gruffly and let the boy go. Dick rubbed his arm and stared at Slade with wide eyes.

_Oh my god_, he thought in horror. _I just got girl advice from _Slade_._

_Dear god_, Slade thought, trying to look unfazed. _Please let this moment be over._

"Well then," he said in a rough voice.

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, so... Training."

"Yes, right. We were-"

"-Yeah, we were doing that thing-"

"-Yes, let's continue with that. So as I was explaining before..."

Slade gruffly launched back into his explanation. It took a few minutes for the awkward tension in the room to die down, but when it did Slade had a realization of his own.

As horrible and strange and uncomfortable as it had been... Robin had chosen to have that conversation with _him_ instead of Bruce Wayne.

The thought was enough to make him smile for the rest of the night.

* * *

Down in the dark, Bruce Wayne sat hunched over a key board, typing furiously. His hair was mussed from pulling it in frustration, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Something distracted him. He blinked, took a moment to check the time, and with a small nod started typing again.

After a time, he heard footsteps approaching. Alfred.

"Master Bruce," his butler said softly. "Shouldn't you be getting ready to -"

"I have fifteen minutes before I have to get ready to pick him up," Bruce interrupted, not turning away from the screen. "That'll give me five minutes to clean myself up, so I'll be in the car ready to go in twenty. It's fine, Alfred."

The older man sighed heavily. "I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself, sir. It's been months."

"He's out there somewhere," Bruce growled. "I don't know why he's hiding, he said there was a reason he revealed himself that night. He's up to something, I know it. And it all goes back to that chip he stole. There's data in there that could be used -"

"To create an army," Alfred interrupted wearily. "I know, sir, you've told me many times before. That doesn't change the fact that you're running yourself into the ground and hiding it from your ward."

"Dick doesn't need to know about this. I want him to have a normal life." He arched a brow and finally turned around to face his butler. "Do you disagree with that?"

"No," Alfred replied softly. "He seems to have adjusted to a life without fighting, although it took the hospitalization of three young boys for that to happen." Bruce lowered his gaze, uncomfortable with the reminder. "I just feel that you've been neglecting your duty as Richard's guardian to hunt this man down."

"Neglecting?" Bruce scoffed incredulously. "I'm trying to bring his attacker to justice! How is that neglecting?!"

"You haven't been spending any time with him, that's how!" Alfred burst out, looking agitated. "You and I are all he's got in the world, master Bruce, and that's not something you can just ignore for your revenge. I care for him, and he cares for me... But I'm just not _you_. He used to look at you with stars in his eyes, see you as a father figure, and I can see that look fading from his face every day. And worse than ignoring him is that you're lying to him, pretending that you're peachy keen when you're actually spending your days and nights obsessing over a man who has clearly disappeared!"

Bruce's jaw tightened. "You don't understand, Alfred," he said in a low voice. "You didn't see Dick that night, he was..." He swallowed heavily. "I can't let that monster get away with what he did. I can't. Dick would understand that."

"If you're so sure, then why are you hiding this from him?" Alfred demanded, raising his chin.

Bruce shook his head. "You don't get it. I have to find him, and Dick shouldn't be any part of that." He narrowed his eyes. "He's out there somewhere, Alfred. And whatever he's doing, whatever he has planned... I have to stop him." He rubbed his eyes tiredly and let out a long sigh. "I have to find Slade. And after that, things can go back to the way they were before."

"I fear, master Bruce," Alfred said quietly, "that by the time you've found him it will be too late for that."

Bruce forced a small smile. "I promise that things will be alright, Alfred. I won't lose Dick." He took a deep breath and turned back to the screen. Far above, something upset the bats and they started to hiss and screech. He easily ignored them and started typing once more. "I promise."


End file.
